


A Model Arrangement

by tasalmalin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2013, M/M, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 09:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tasalmalin/pseuds/tasalmalin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam are set to make some easy cash as amateur models--even if it means putting up with Sam's eccentric ex-stalker, Becky. With Sam's long-time crush also joining them, Sam's actually looking forward to it. Dean's just hoping that his fellow third (fourth?) wheel is a cool guy, because it looks like they're going to be spending quite a bit of time together this week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chateau Rosen-Shurley

**Author's Note:**

> This story was (very) loosely inspired by America's Next Top Model. It is not, however, actually an ANTM AU.
> 
> Special thanks to Kristin, who inspires me to keep writing, to Lily, for her wonderful beta work, and Lis, who rightly insisted that the story wasn't done yet and to whom I dedicate the first three time stamps.
> 
> And, of course, all the thanks to my wonderful artist, who managed all this beautiful art in a phenomenally short time and is amazing, and the mods for organizing this project.

“Let me make sure I understand.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m not explaining this again, Dean.”

“You get a call from your ex-stalker—”

“—she wasn’t my _stalker_ , Dean—”

“—the same girl who once broke into your gym locker and wore your gross, sweaty clothes around all day so she could ‘feel close to you’ is definitely a stalker. This same girl, she offers you ten thousand dollars to spend a week at her house, and you _agreed_?”

“…okay, so that gym locker thing was pretty weird, but she calmed down a lot after that, and anyway, she’s married now.”

“Well, that makes everything okay, then!”

“She was looking for models for a new project she’s working on, and she remembered me!”

“Possibly because she _wallpapered her room with pictures of you_.”

“She has a legitimate photography business, Dean. I googled her website and, er, hacked into her business records.”

“Well, that’s a little unethical, don’t you think, Sammy?”

“Don’t call me that. And I had to make sure this wasn’t anything weird.”

“Well, your little test didn’t work, then, because this is so, so weird.”

“I notice it didn’t keep you from coming with me.”

Dean tapped his hands on the steering wheel in time with his music. It was hard to argue with that, so he didn’t bother.

Judging by Sam’s smirk, he took that as a win. 

Dean switched tactics. “I’m surprised at you, Sam. Taking a week off in the middle of the semester? Aren’t you worried this will ruin your perfect GPA?”

Sam slunk a little in his seat. 

Now that was interesting. Dean hadn’t actually expected to score a hit with that one—Sam was always doing his schoolwork weeks in advance, the nerd. “Is there something else you’re not telling me here, Sammy?”

“Well… you know I’m involved in a few study groups at school, and we were working on Latin the other day, and Jess happened to mention that she ran into Becky at the coffee shop and she was looking for models…” 

Dean started laughing so hard he had to pull over.

“It’s not that funny!” Sam said, bitch-facing.

“I see how it is.” Dean said, when he could speak again. “I’m putting up with this modeling shit so you can try and score with the chick you still haven’t managed to ask out in the three years you’ve been at college.”

“We’re just friends, Dean.”

“Yeah, because your pansy-ass is too terrified to make a move.”

“Sometimes people are just friends!”

“Okay, whatever, man. This is the most ridiculous in your long history of ridiculous attempts to get her to notice you, but I am nothing if not supportive of your pitiful efforts to get laid.”

“ _Dean…_ ”

“So long as you weren’t lying about that ten thousand dollars thing. I’m taking time off work for this, dude.”

“Nope, I signed a contract and everything: seven days, four photoshoots, ten thousand dollars. And she’s putting us up in her mansion and feeding us for the whole week as part of the deal.”

“Her mansion?”

“Yeah, her new husband is some big-time author or something, a millionaire. She just does photography for fun.”

“Crazy Becky’s a millionaire? Sometimes I don’t understand the world.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Dean.”

“How about looking at that map and telling me how much farther we have to go?”

~*~

“Sam, you made it! You look _great!_ ”

“Uh, thanks, Becky, you too,” Sam said, trying to extract himself from her overly enthusiastic flying hug.

Dean wondered what the appropriate way was to greet someone with whom your primary interaction was chasing them and their camera off your property. “Hey.” 

“Oh, hi Dean,” she said, peering at him over Sam’s shoulder. “Wow, you turned out better than I expected. I was a little worried when Sam insisted that the two of you were a package deal, but you’ll do fine.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sam succeeded in escaping the Death Hug, and suggested they all go into the house.

Becky bounced along, tugging Sam’s hand as she showed off the artwork that covered every available surface in the vast entryway, babbling on about the origin and significance of every picture and statue. Dean tuned her out.

She finally wound down when they arrived in an oppressively white room. The walls, ceiling and floor were all white, along with all of the furniture, and the only decoration was white fabric draped artfully along the walls.

Creepy.

The only color in the whole room was the people, their group and three strangers.

One, judging by Sam’s suddenly bright red face, was the infamous Jess. She was a knockout, all blonde hair and long legs, shown off to her advantage by her cute blue summer dress. Sam had good taste.

The other two were guys, and they were both scruffy looking, which made Dean fill a little better about his own tattered jeans. One was wearing shorts and a ratty t-shirt with an even rattier bathrobe over it. He had a few days’ growth of beard and if he was a model, Dean would eat his jacket. The other guy was wearing loose pants and a long-sleeved shirt with the ugliest trenchcoat Dean had ever seen thrown over it, and for some reason he was barefoot. But despite his wild dark hair and comfortable clothes, he was young and good-looking (you know, for a dude) and was probably here for the picture taking.

“Has everyone met Chuck?” Becky asked, bounding over to bathrobe guy and giving him a very long, loud kiss. Hopefully that was her husband. “He wanted to meet all of you!”

“Uh, hey,” Chuck said, looking like he would rather, in fact, be anywhere but here.

“He’s in the writing zone right now,” Becky whispered loud enough for the whole room to hear. “So you probably won’t be seeing much of him this week.”

“And speaking of that…” Chuck said, edging towards the door.

“Of course!” Becky said, smacking his butt as he scurried past.

Dean didn’t know what his face looked right now, but Sam kicked his shin when he saw it.

“I suppose most of you know each other,” Becky said, “but I’ll introduce you just in case. I knew Sam back in high school, and this is his brother, Dean. Jess here works at my favorite coffee shop, and Cas,” this was wild hair dude, “is my yoga instructor.”

The four of them waved awkwardly at each other. Personally, Dean thought this was the weirdest way of recruiting models he’d ever heard of, but then, if he were a millionaire, he’d probably do weird shit, too. Maybe travel the country and search out the best pie, then build a new national monument to it. Did you need a permit for that?

“This first day is just for settling in; we’ll start shooting tomorrow,” Becky was saying. “The chef will serve dinner at six, but if you’re hungry at other times the kitchen is always open. Um, what else… I’ve set aside the east hall for you to sleep in. The rest of the crew is staying here, too, so I only have two rooms available for you four, but everyone gets their own bed. Here, let me show you the way.”

Dean sighed; he’d spent virtually his whole life sharing a room with Sam and his ear-splitting snoring, but what the hell, at least he was used to it.

Then he caught sight of Sam giving him the puppy eyes behind Becky’s back. Sam glanced at Jess, then back at Dean. Tears shimmered in his wide eyes.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Sam’s lower lip wobbled a little.

Dean scowled and looked away. That expression should be illegal. But because he was a giant sucker, he slowed his stride to fall in pace with the yoga guy, Cas. “Hey,” he said.

“You look like you’re about to be sexiled,” Cas said, grinning.

Dean couldn’t help but smile back. At least he seemed like a cool guy. “Yeah. You mind?”

“Not at all. This is a big step up for me; I’ve been sleeping on a bench at the Y for the past few weeks.”

“Geez, really?” And Dean thought his shitty apartment was bad.

“Eh, it’s not so bad. There’s always hot water in the shower, and it saves the commute. I teach a morning and evening yoga class there, and tai chi in the afternoons.”

“So… if you have a job, why are you…?” Dean asked awkwardly.

“I want to have my own studio one day, and if they’re willing to let me stay there for free, well, then I’m that much closer to my dream, aren’t I?”

“You’re kind of strange, aren’t you,” Dean said, before he could censor himself.

Cas laughed. “That’s what everyone tells me. And what brings you here? You don’t really give off the model vibe.”

“Yeah, _no_. I’m a mechanic. That gargantuan little brother of mine got a full ride to college, but that doesn’t include food and board, not to mention books, a computer, all that shit. I’m helping him out, and I certainly wasn’t going to pass up to ten thousand bucks for a measly week of work.”

“Fair enough.”

Sam and Jess disappeared into one of the rooms, laughing and completely wrapped up in each other.

“So, guess this is us,” Dean said, hovering awkwardly outside the second door.

“Or the linen closet,” Cas said, pushing open the door.

They went into the room, which had fancy wood-paneling on every wall and two king-size beds with thick, red velvet curtains. Reproductions of famous works of art—or possibly the originals, who knows?—lined the walls.

“Wow,” Cas said, looking more disturbed than impressed. Dean immediately felt more at ease; he wasn’t used to this kind of… opulence… and it was a relief to be around someone who felt the same.

“I feel like I should be wearing a doublet,” Dean joked.

“I’ll have you know I look fabulous in a hoop skirt,” Cas said, disappearing into the attached bathroom.

Dean laughed. “Wait, you were joking, right?”

~*~

The next morning, Cas was already gone by the time Dean woke up. It was nice that the guy wasn’t intrusive, but it was a little weird that his moving around hadn’t woken Dean up. He was normally a light sleeper.

Well, whatever. Breakfast was calling. He barely had time to grab a bagel before Becky waltzed into the kitchen with her thousand-watt smile. “There you are! Everyone’s waiting!”

He meekly followed her downstairs, stuffing as much of the bagel into his mouth as he could. He was still chipmunk-cheeked when he found Sam, Jess and Cas. Sam covered his eyes in shame.

They were in what must have been the basement, but it looked more like a ballroom, or an anthill. It was all one, enormous room, filled to the brim with a forest of equipment, backdrops and screens sectioning off different parts of the room. Throughout the mess a truly frightening number of people ran about shouting and waving papers, equipment, and who knows what else. 

“Charlie!” Becky yelled, her voice more than a match for the ruckus.

A cute redhead wearing a white corset top and brown leggings emerged from the chaos. She smiled and waved. “Hey folks! I’m Charlie, the creative director for the shoot. I designed all your costumes and the sets and everything. Not that you probably care about that. The important part is that I’ll be taking you to Balthazar to get your makeup and costumes sorted so we can get started.”

Like ducklings, they obediently trotted after her, while Becky went to do who knows what. Actually… “So what exactly does Becky do, then?” Dean asked. “I thought she was kind of running the show here?”

“She is; she tells me what she wants, then it’s my job to translate that vision into reality. So that means, if you end up with a concept you don’t like, don’t blame me,” Charlie said, with an unsettling smile.

Dean was immediately afraid of what was in store.

This fear was not alleviated by Balthazar, who had a smarmy look about him that immediately put Dean on edge. He seemed to pick up on it somehow, because he winked at Dean obnoxiously. “Well, well, aren’t you all just delicious.”

Dean edged away.

“Girls!” Balthazar shouted, making Dean jump. Three women, probably about Sam’s age, appeared out of nowhere. “Get these people to hair and makeup. I’ll take them one at a time to make sure their clothes fit. You can never trust someone else’s measurements.”

“Not yet!” someone interrupted. Dean had the brief impression of shortness and a fine suit as yet another person pushed into his personal space.

“Fuck off, Crowley, some of us are working here,” Balthazar said to the newcomer.

“No one does anything until these forms are signed,” Crowley said, totally unbothered by Balthazar’s hostility.

“We already signed contracts,” Sam said.

“These are non-disclosure forms, appearance releases, and risk acknowledgment forms. Strictly routine.” He dropped about a hundred pieces of paper on the table with a thud, scattering makeup everywhere.

Balthazar made a scandalized noise.

The four of them signed the whole lot, even though Sam complained the entire time about not having enough time to read it properly.

“It lets us use the pictures and says you can’t sue us if you’re mauled by lions or die of syphilis or anything,” Crowley said helpfully.

“Is that likely?” Dean asked, pausing.

“Some behaviors are more high-risk than others,” Balthazar said with another wink. “Looks like you’re done. Come on, darling.”

“Excuse me?” Dean hissed, even as Balthazar dragged him behind one of the screens and began measuring him.

“Is that really necessary?” Dean said, pretending that his voice hadn’t gone dangerously high towards the end there.

Balthazar smirked from where he was measuring Dean’s inseam—for the third time. “It never hurts to be thorough,” he said primly, not-quite-groping Dean in the process.

Dean muttered darkly under his breath.

“I love these bow legs,” Balthazar said, measuring the space between Dean’s knees for some obscure reason—or possibly no reason. “Adorable. This could be your signature.”

“Uh, sure,” Dean said, trying to subtly check himself out in one of the myriad floor-length mirrors in Balthazar’s “office”. Were his legs really that weird-looking? They just looked like his normal legs to him.

“You’re fabulous, don’t worry about it,” Balthazar said, slapping him on the ass.

Dean tried and failed not to make an offended noise like some kind of _girl_. He was forced to gather the shreds of his dignity and walk, not run, away, Balthazar’s mocking laughter ringing in his ears.

Of course it wasn’t much of an escape, because then he had to sit in a chair and get his hair styled and _makeup_ put on his face. This was mortifying. He couldn’t even properly enjoy how all three makeup girls came over to exclaim over his eyes and his freckles and how cute he was, because then they started talking about foundation and eyeshadow and hell no.

“Adorable,” Sam said, seemingly unbothered by the fact that he had makeup on only half his face, or that he was wearing makeup at all.

“Always knew you were a girl,” Dean said. “How was getting groped by Balthazar?”

Sam frowned. “Uncomfortable. I’m pretty sure that kind of harassment’s illegal.”

“Dude, turn off lawyer-mode for five minutes, it wasn’t that bad.”

“I got a phone number out of it,” Cas said, smoothly interrupting their conversation. 

Dean startled, almost getting a mascara brush in his eye. And there was a sentence he hoped he never had to think again. “Make some noise or something,” he said.

“I believe I just did,” Cas said.

“Are you always such a smart-ass?”

Cas fluttered his eyelashes. “Only for you.”

“I’m going to go check on Jess,” Sam said, sliding out of his seat and out from the curtain tent, much to his makeup girl’s frustration.

“He has it so bad for her,” Dean said, watching his brother run off to defend Jess’s honor with proud amusement.

“Yeah, that’s definitely why he was rushing off,” Cas said, smiling like Dean was missing something.

Before Dean could ask about it, they were pronounced ‘finished’ and hustled off to wardrobe, where their clothes were waiting for them.

“If the clothes were already made, why did we need to get measured?” Dean asked.

“I’m a yoga instructor, not a fashion designer,” Cas said, his voice muffled by his shirt. “How the hell should I know? Usually I just go around naked.”

Dean choked on nothing. “What?”

Cas’s grinning face emerged from the hem of his new t-shirt.

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that, right?”

“It’s been said.”

Jess and Sam arrived soon after, and Dean was relieved to see that they were all in relatively normal clothes. He’d seen magazines, and models wore some weird shit. They looked like a redneck convention in their jeans and plaid, but it could have been a lot worse, and Jess looked like an angel in a long white dress.

Sam certainly couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“Dude, you look like a trucker,” Dean said, as Cas pulled a baseball cap over his unruly hair. “Except all the other truckers would probably beat you up.”

Cas wasn’t a short guy, but between Sam, who was clearly part-giant, and Dean in a sweet leather jacket that added even more bulk to his already respectable shoulders, Cas looked small. It didn’t help that his plaid shirt was a few sizes too big, and his face practically disappeared behind his hat and beard.

Cas seemed to read his mind, because he scratched at his facial hair irritably. “I suppose I know why Becky insisted that I start growing a beard when she came in last. I hope this is a one-time thing; I’ve been fantasizing about shaving these last few days.”

“Aren’t you guys ready yet?” Charlie demanded, sticking her head into the room. “Oh, you are. Well, stop standing around and get in here, then!”

The chaos was slightly tamed, and they were led an open area with a bed, a fake tree, and a 1967 Chevy Impala. 

“That is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Dean said, stroking the hood.

“Dean, you’re making me uncomfortable,” Sam muttered.

“This is perfect!” Becky said, right in Dean’s ear. “You’re getting right into character. I guess I had no reason to worry.”

Dean was too busy whispering sweet nothings to this gorgeous car to be offended. Would anyone notice if he drove off in it?

“Chuck’s going to be with us today,” Becky said, waving to Chuck, who was dozing in one of those cloth director’s chairs, still wearing that awful robe. “I wanted to start with some pictures inspired by Chuck’s amazing book series, Supernatural” she sighed loudly and held her hands over her heart “and he’s having a bit of writer’s block, so maybe it will be inspirational!”

After that it was a whirlwind of barked orders and bright lights. Jess was playing Sam’s dead girlfriend, his inspiration for a life of crime-fighting and… ghost-busting? The plot of these books wasn’t too clear to Dean. But the two of them blew it out of the water, Sam hardly having to struggle to look at her longingly, and she looked ethereal with her hair loose around her shoulders and her dress reflecting all the light.

Then Sam and Dean posed together, playing two characters who were brothers, and that required no imagination at all. They half-hugged, laughed, posed in and around the car, then pretended to beat each other up. Then they were supposed to be sad—“in the depths of despair” as Becky put it—which was harder. It wasn’t like Dean could cry on cue!

Cas was playing their friend, Bobby, and they did several shots with the three of them together. Cas’s character was a teacher or mentor of some kind, and they had him reading from old-looking books, then whacking Sam and Dean upside the head with said books (with entirely too much enthusiasm, in Dean’s opinion), then just the three of them hanging around the car, drinking beer and talking.

Then Jess came out again dressed in a skintight black number that had Sam’s jaw practically on the floor. Apparently she was now Sam’s new girlfriend (Dean was sensing a theme here), the demon Ruby, set to seduce Sam away from the side of truth and light. She was seductive all right, and Dean had to look away in order to respect the brotherly rules of I saw her first.

Cas slipped away to change back into his regular clothes, loose white pants and a top, again with the trenchcoat. The bastard was done already, while Dean was on standby in case they wanted him for something else. Becky was threatening to pose him and Sam together in ways that frankly made Dean a bit uncomfortable.

But in the meantime, she had Sam stripped to the waist and posing for the camera, some weird star drawn on his chest, and fans blowing his hair back wildly. He looked completely ridiculous and Dean could hardly stop laughing.

“Admire my flowing locks!” Dean said, tossing his head dramatically and fluttering his hands.

Cas laughed, then gave Dean a courtly bow. “Fair maiden, of the flowing hair, may I have this dance?”

Dean gave him a suspicious look, still not sure how seriously he should take anything Cas said. “I think if one of us is the girl here, it’s definitely you,” he said finally, pointing at Cas’s hair. After being under a hat all day, it was even more out of control than before, sticking up wildly in every direction.

“I see your point,” Cas said. “Good sir.” He fluttered his eyelashes, then pulled at the edges of his trenchcoat and curtsied. “May I have this dance?”

“Umm…”

It wasn’t really a question, because Cas put one hand on Dean’s shoulder and the other on his elbow and began waltzing around the small waiting area, the equipment throwing weird shadows against the sheets draped everywhere.

Dean just went with it; it was Cas’s idea, and he could hardly be held responsible for how crazy the guy was. He did make sure he was the one leading, though, and Cas played it up, letting his trenchcoat swirl like a woman’s skirt. He didn’t seem the tiniest bit bothered by how ridiculous they must look.

They were both laughing when they finally stopped, Dean never having quite caught the rhythm of the steps. Whatever, it wasn’t like ballroom dancing was something that came up frequently in his life.

“Wait, don’t move!”

They both froze, only then realizing how uncomfortably close they were standing, as Chuck launched himself out of his chair and began circling Dean and Cas, squinting at everything and waving his hands and muttering to himself. His shout had brought all activity in the room to a sudden halt.

“Ooh,” Becky said, coming to see what the fuss was about.

“Oh,” Dean said, once he saw it, too.

“What?” Cas asked, annoyed.

“Dude, you’ve got…” Dean waved a hand vaguely. Some trick of the lights, or the equipment, or something, had cast shadows against the sheet that looked eerily like wings, protruding from Cas’s back. There was even a goddamn light making a goddamn golden halo on his dark hair. It was almost beautiful, if you could overlook the ridiculous trenchcoat and overall dorkiness. Or some manlier adjective than freaking ‘beautiful’, what was even going on in his head right now.

Cas elbowed him in the stomach for that less than helpful response.

“What’s your name again?” Chuck asked, coming to a halt about two inches from Cas’s face.

“It’s Cas,” Cas said, seemingly unbothered by this intrusion in his personal space. Well, Dean was bothered on his behalf. And on his own behalf, as he was standing next to Cas, so Chuck was practically standing on top of him. “Or, Castiel. Castiel Novak.”

“That’s an unusual name,” Chuck said.

“I’m named after an angel,” Cas said, shrugging.

“An angel… of course! Angels!”

“Baby?” Becky said, joining the others inside Dean’s personal bubble.

“I have… I want… I have an idea!” Chuck said, sounding more surprised than pleased. “Put this guy back in front of the camera. But lose the beard. And put him in some actual clothes. Actually, the trenchcoat can stay.” He abruptly walked away, muttering to himself about needing paper.

“You heard the man!” Becky said, clapping her hands and getting everyone moving again.

“This is a tai chi uniform, and perfectly functional clothing,” Cas said, with great dignity. “But since you’re finally letting me shave I won’t complain.”

Not that it would have mattered, because all three makeup girls and Balthazar hustled him away. Charlie ran after them. “That wasn’t much guidance!” she yelled at Becky, who wasn’t listening as she’d gone to talk to the photographer.

Dean and Jess exchanged looks, then sat on the floor where they hopefully wouldn’t be noticed, and watched an enthusiastic photography assistant show Sam his pin-up shots. Jess was funny as well as hot, and she giggled right along with Dean at Sam’s misfortune. She was good for that kid.

Cas eventually returned, wearing an ill-fitting black suit and a backwards blue tie under his trenchcoat. Did they have some kind of allergy to giving him clothes that fit? They’d somewhat tamed his hair, so it looked merely windswept, rather than dragged backwards through a hedge. Without the distracting facial hair, his face was completely dominated by big blue eyes and a full, almost girly mouth.

“I look stupid, right?” Cas said, as Dean stood there gaping like an idiot. “I can’t remember the last time I wore a suit.”

“Ah, perfect!” Chuck exclaimed. He was scribbling furiously on the back of one the appearance releases, much to Crowley’s obvious irritation. “I sent Dean to hell, and I couldn’t figure out what to do next, but angels! Why didn’t I think of that? The angel Castiel! But before he was touched by an angel, he was an ordinary human. A tax accountant!” He squinted at Cas. “Or a moderately successful ad salesman.”

Cas looked offended by this.

“You sent me to hell?” Dean asked, confused.

“The main characters are also named Sam and Dean,” Becky said. “That’s how I knew Sam and I were meant to be. Meant to be best friends, I mean.”

“Well, that’s weird,” Dean said. 

Charlie was nowhere to be found, so Becky set Dean and Cas in front of one of the screens, the shadow-wings placed purposefully this time, and told them to ‘get creative’. “Try and imagine it,” she said. “We’re not shooting yet, just trying to get you in the right headspace. So the story is that Castiel is an angel who just pulled you from years of suffering in hell. How are you feeling? Show us.”

“Bwuh?” Dean said. He wasn’t an actor. He turned to tell Cas this, but the guy seemed to have grown three feet in the last ten seconds and had fixed him with a laser stare that had Dean frozen in his tracks. “Meh?” he squeaked.

“I’m an angel of the lord,” Cas said, and Christ, even his voice was deeper. What the hell? Cas took a step forward. “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

“Oh my god I’m totally using that,” Chuck muttered, pencil scratching away.

“That’s perfect, Dean!” Becky said. 

Dean was pretty sure his face said ‘frightened rabbit’ right now, but whatever, he couldn’t seem to look away. Cas kept walking forward at a slow, hypnotic pace, until they were nose to nose. They weren’t actually touching anywhere, but if one of them breathed too deeply they would be.

“I saved you, Dean,” Cas said, and Dean could feel his breath against his face.

“Why?” Dean said, deciding to start pulling his own weight here. He let his expression go conflicted, angry and sad and overwhelmed all at once. In the background, Becky squealed again.

“You deserved to be saved,” Cas said, solemnly. His face, which had been so mobile and expressive up until now, was completely still, all his focus on Dean.

“Okay, we’re ready!” Charlie said from somewhere off to the side, breaking the moment.

“Great! Cas, Dean, this way!” Becky said, waving them along.

Charlie had transformed a corner of the room into a creepy tableau, broken furniture and gruesome paintings against a backdrop of red and yellow cloth. “Hell,” Charlie said proudly. “Not bad for twenty minutes of prep time, if I do say so myself.”

Becky and Charlie positioned Dean and Cas in various ways with much muttering and shaking of heads.

“It’s still missing something,” Becky said.

“Yes, but what?” Charlie said.

“How about this?” Sam said. He held up an antique sword. “Storming hell, might want a weapon.”

“Mm, yes, good,” Chuck said, still scribbling away. “A garrison of angels laid siege to hell, but only one angel made it through the demonic ranks…”

“Dean, take off your jacket,” Charlie said. As soon as he’d tossed it aside, she grabbed his t-shirt and ripped it.

“Whoa, hey!”

“Relax, tiger, your virtue is in no danger. You’re not my type.” She fluttered her eyelashes at Jess, who looked both surprised and flattered.

Dean’s jaw dropped, and Charlie took advantage of his distraction to upend a bucket of dark red paint over his head. “Hey!” he sputtered. “My mouth was open and everything!”

“Oops,” Charlie said, unrepentantly.

“Why do you even have all this stuff down here?” Dean asked, trying to wipe the paint out of his eyes with his paint-covered hand.

“You never know what you might need during a photoshoot,” Charlie said practically, wiping the paint from his eyes with a cloth. “There. Now I think we’re getting somewhere.”

“Yes, I like this,” Becky said. “Dean, go over there! Now lie on the floor; remember, you’re a tortured soul. And Cas, you swoop down from heaven and pull him out. Try to look… ethereal.”

The paint had dried and was flaking every time Dean even breathed by the time they were finally done. But even he had to admit that they’d gotten a phenomenal picture. They must have tried a hundred poses, but the one everyone kept returning to was Dean kneeling, looking up at Cas in wonder as the angel gripped his bicep and promised a return to life. The lighting people had somehow gotten it so the light only fell on Cas, while Dean was left in shadow and sticky red paint. That damn halo lit up his hair and, with his sword raised, Dean half-believed Cas really was an angel.

Dean got to take a break while they tried a few pictures with Cas and the others. Charlie particularly loved putting “Castiel” and “Ruby” in the same picture, capturing the struggle between angel and demon.

“I had no idea modeling was so much work,” Dean said, barely able to eat the steak dinner the chef prepared, which was a damn shame. He did manage to rally in time for dessert, a delicious cherry pie.

“A quarter of the way done now,” Sam said. 

“Maybe you’d feel better if you showered,” Jess said pointedly, brushing red paint flakes away from her plate.

“Too hungry,” Dean whined.

Sam and Jess both rolled their eyes at the same time—creepy—but Cas, who was a good friend, offered Dean the rest of his slice of pie.

~*~

The next day was photo-shoot free, but Dean decided to get up at a decent hour anyway and maybe go for a run. Not that he had anything to be ashamed about, but Sam’s little floor show yesterday made him want to work out a bit more.

Even though it was barely seven, Cas was already gone. How did that guy make so little noise? Until proven otherwise, Dean was assuming that he could teleport.

Dean winced at Cas’s unmade bed—he had only been sixteen when John died, but he still remembered vividly making his bed with military precision every morning, a serious production when he couldn’t reach the far side without climbing up on the bed and wrinkling the sheets, and a messy bed still made him cringe. 

Whatever, none of his business. He went for a run, did push-ups and sit-ups until he couldn’t move, then locked the door and read for a bit. When he got tired of that, he took a long, leisurely shower, then went in search of food.

It was kind of between meals, but there was plenty of food in the kitchen and he made himself a few sandwiches. He wandered around for a bit and found Sam and Jess being disgustingly cute with each other in a huge library, and decided not to disturb them.

He did not, however, find Cas. Maybe instead of teleportation, he had the power of invisibility. Or he was a ninja. A person of the night.

Well, okay, not that last one.

And it wasn’t like he needed Cas around to amuse him--he’d only known the guy for two days--so Dean went to the wall-to-wall flatscreen tv and turned it on. Ugh, cop show. He settled on some British show, a Sherlock Holmes adaptation with that guy from the Hobbit. It was surprisingly good, and it was a marathon, and occupied him all afternoon.

He limped a little on his way up to his room—probably should have stretched more—and found it still empty. Well fine, it’s not like he wanted to invite Cas to dinner, anyway. He was a grown man and could feed himself.

“Hey,” Cas said, appearing silently behind him.

“Yaa!” Dean said, almost throwing himself down the stairs. “Don’t do that!”

That’s it; he could teleport. Cas was some super-nerdy, creeper-trenchcoat-wearing version of the Nightcrawler. Except way less badass than that just sounded, because that would actually be really fucking cool.

“Were you looking for me?” Cas asked.

Crap, now Dean couldn’t ask where he’d been all day without sounding like a ten-year-old girl with a crush. “No,” Dean said, hoping that came out more convincing than it had sounded in his head.

Cas gave him a pitying look, like he was humoring Dean, but he didn’t say anything. Dean would count that as a victory.

They arrived for dinner together, where Sam and Jess were making doe eyes at each other and holding hands across the table. Sheesh.

It was worth all the soppiness for the _delicious_ burgers. Dean ate three despite Sam’s disgusted look.

“Besides,” Dean said around a mouthful of burger, “Cas had three, too.”

“These are amazing,” Cas said, moaning inappropriately. 

“At least he put some vegetables on his,” Sam said.

It was true. Cas insisted on ruining a perfectly good burger with tomatoes and avocado and spinach, though he turned his nose up at Dean putting ketchup on his. “Well he’s all, you know, into hippie shit, he’s probably a vegan or something.”

Cas choked on his burger.

Jess gave him a Sam bitchface, which was a little alarming. “You’re an idiot,” she said. “Hamburgers are made of meat.”

“Hippie shit?” Cas said, once he’d swallowed his food.

That was when Dean realized that he might have said something offensive. “Um, I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, this should be good,” Sam said heartlessly.

Cas grinned, because he was apparently not offended by anything. “You and your brother are obviously in good shape, and you have some background in fighting, am I right?”

“Our dad was a Marine,” Sam said. “And he taught us both how to fight.”

“Perfect.” Cas stood up. “Come here, Dean.”

Dean and Sam exchanged a look. “Sure, why not.” Dean stuffed the last of his burger in his mouth and stood up.

Cas stepped into a clear area of the room and turned to face Dean. “Try and hit me.” 

“Um, what?”

“I’m serious. Try and hit me.”

Dean shrugged and threw a punch—slowly, because he was well-fed and content and didn’t actually want to hurt Cas. His punch went wide by almost six inches.

“I’m not some delicate flower,” Cas said.

Dean threw a real punch this time, and again Cas moved out of the way. Dean grit his teeth and began striking in earnest; Cas dodged most of them, and the rest he swept aside with his hands in a graceful looking block that was surprisingly effective.

Dean only stopped when his sore arms began to twinge and his hearty meal churned a bit in his stomach. “What the hell was that?”

“That’s tai chi,” Cas said, not looking even slightly ruffled. “It is a martial art, you know.” He plopped back in his seat and resumed eating like nothing had happened. 

Dean soon joined him. “Well, that was pretty cool. But you can’t win a fight on defense alone.”

“I would disagree with that,” Cas said. “Part of being a martial artist is not using your skills except in defense of your life or someone else’s.”

“That doesn’t sound very practical,” Dean said. “Why learn how to fight if you’re just gonna swear not to?”

Cas paused with his burger halfway to his mouth. “You want practical? Thanks to yoga, I’m flexible enough to suck myself off.” He took a bite.

It took Dean a few seconds to process that he’d actually just said that. Then all he could manage was a strangled noise of incredulity. Sam spit out a mouthful of salad.

“Really?” Jess asked, leaning forward. “Are you serious?”

“Yep,” Cas said. 

Jess looked thoughtful. “Wow. I would never date again.”

“Eventually you miss having someone to cuddle with,” Cas said.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

“Oh look is that dessert?” Sam said, interrupting Jess’s weird fascination.

Dean went to the library after dinner in an effort to get his mind on something that wasn’t Cas’s… special skill. He was entirely uncomfortable with the amount of time he spent thinking about this.

When he got back to their room, Cas was asleep, nothing but a tuft of that ridiculous hair showing.

Dean stopped himself when he realized he was smiling fondly and went to brush his teeth.

~*~

Remembering how he’d barely had a chance to eat last picture day, Dean set his alarm an hour earlier. So he felt entirely justified in his annoyance when Charlie slammed open the door to their room when the sun had barely risen, shouting for them to get their asses out of bed and down to makeup. It didn’t improve his mood when he saw that Cas wasn’t even there—he’d disappeared again.

He was only mollified when he saw the three boxes of donuts waiting for them, and sniped a jelly donut with extra glaze before Sam could get his grimy paws on it.

“Sorry for the early wakeup call,” Becky said, looking as fresh and chipper as if this were an actually decent hour. “But we have some special costume challenges today. Disney is having a contest for creative interpretations of the princesses, and I want to put in my submission well before the deadline.”

Dean looked around. Sure enough, it was still three male models—Cas had ninja’d in _again_ —and Jess. He turned back to Becky. “You, uh, you mean princesses _and princes_ , right?”

She did not.

~*~

Dean crossed his arms over his stomach—because there wasn’t room over his chest!—and fumed. He was never listening to Sam again. He should have drowned him as a child. 

“And who are you?” Cas asked, his skirts rustling as he came to stand beside Dean.

Dean frowned—not pouted, contrary to what some idiots named Sam might think—and tried to set the floor on fire with his eyes. Then he could jump in and pretend this all never happened.

“Beauty and the Beast is one of my favorite movies,” Cas said, his enthusiasm undeterred by Dean’s fiery rage.

“Seriously?” Dean asked, looking up. “You can’t just say things like that.”

Cas looked—well. He _should_ have looked ridiculous. He was wearing a golden dress with a huge skirt, dipping neckline and off-the-shoulder sleeves. He also had a stylized brown wig and earrings.

“You let them pierce your ears?” Dean asked.

“Oh, I already had pierced ears.”

“Why?”

Cas sat carefully beside Dean, crossing his ankles demurely. “I like the way they look.”

Well then. “Isn’t that uncomfortable?”

“A bit. I haven’t actually worn a hoop skirt before. It’s difficult to maneuver through doors.”

“I’ll, uh, take your word for it.”

They sat in silence for a bit.

“You seem troubled,” Cas said.

“I am wearing a dress. I have flowers in my hair. I am wearing pink and purple from head to toe. I have more makeup on than all my high school girlfriends combined. ‘Troubled’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

“So?”

Dean scowled. “So I’m going to kill Sam as soon as I get out of this ridiculous thing.”

Cas sighed. “You could try having a more positive attitude; this might not be as miserable as you think.”

“That’s easy for you to say! Either I look okay in this get-up because I’m feminine-looking, or I look stupid because I’m a big, hairy guy in a frilly dress! There is no possible win!”

“Hmm.” Cas appeared to be carefully considering this outburst. “You know that first, there’s nothing bad about having certain features that may be called feminine, and second, there’s nothing inherently bad about the word feminine?”

“Well of course it’s bad for a guy to look feminine!” Dean said. Was Cas really this dense?

“Why? All feminine means is that it refers to qualities traditionally associated with women and girls. Do you think girls are bad? That women have no positive qualities? Gentleness and caring are considered feminine qualities, as are gracefulness and even playfulness. You obviously care for your family, and you are a graceful and athletic person. Are you seriously going to sit there and tell me that you don’t know any women that you admire and aspire to be like?”

“Preach it, sister!” Jess said.

Cas actually blushed a little, the first time Dean had seen him look even remotely uncomfortable. “Sorry for the speech.”

Dean could feel his own cheeks coloring. “No… it’s cool. My bad.”

“Wow,” Sam said. “I think that is the most mature I have ever seen you behave.”

“Shut up,” Dean said, levering himself to his feet. “I still hate this dress. It’s not comfortable. And the hair is heavy. And it feels like I can’t move my face.”

“Well, women’s formal clothing is seldom comfortable,” Cas said.

“Amen,” Jess said. “At least they didn’t do anything to your real hair.”

“It looks good on you,” Cas said. “You have the skin tone for it.”

Her hair was a brilliant red, and her curls had been exaggerated so that they made a cloud around her head. She was wearing a simple green dress and, for some reason, carrying a longbow.

Sam was wearing armor, in a style Dean didn’t recognize, with a sword strapped to his waist. More importantly, he was wearing pants.

“What the hell?” Dean asked.

Sam smirked. “I’m Mulan.”

“I hate everything,” Dean said.

“Who are you?” Cas asked Jess. “I don’t recognize you.”

“I’m Merida, from Brave. It just came out.” She held up her bow. “She’s totally kickass, I’m excited to play her.”

“Why can’t I be Mulan,” Dean whined.

“I would look silly blonde,” Sam said, with great dignity.

“And his shoulders are too broad for that dress,” Jess pointed out.

Dean gave her a look of offended dignity.

“Don’t whine,” she said mercilessly. “You couldn’t pull off Cas’s dress. But with those frilly sleeves and all that distracting hair, all you see are those big green eyes of yours. You look just like Rapunzel.”

Cas pulled the end of his hair forward so it draped fetchingly over his shoulder. “I’m not ashamed of my delicate, feminine collarbones,” he said.

Jess laughed and elbowed him. “Do you need a hand getting up?”

“God, yes.”

It took both her and Dean helping to get Cas back on his feet again. “If I ever think hoop skirts are a good costume idea, remind me of this moment,” Jess told Sam as Cas struggled to fit through the gap between the dressing room and photoshoot area.

Sam followed behind, smug in his position as the only one wearing pants.

They ran into Balthazar in the open area, who gawked at Cas for a moment before fixing Dean with one of his creepy looks. “Well hello there, princess!” He smacked a kiss on Dean’s cheek and patted his butt as he walked by.

Dean tried not to squawk, but he was pretty sure he failed.

Sam, heartless bitch that he was, just laughed.

“Why doesn’t he harass anyone else?” Dean asked.

“I suspect your reaction amuses him,” Cas said. “Also, he’s trying to convince me to go out with him, so I think he’s behaving himself towards me. Relatively speaking.”

“He’s _what?_ ”

Cas frowned. “Didn’t I tell you that he gave me his number?”

Jess interrupted before Dean could say something dumb. “Balthazar? You can do better than him, Cas.”

“I know, but thanks for saying so.”

Sam seized Dean’s arm and held him back as the other two walked ahead.

“What?” Dean said.

“I saw your face, and don’t forget that I know you, Dean. What’s up? Do you have a problem with gay people?”

“What? No, of course not! I just… didn’t realize. I was surprised.”

Sam gave him a searching look. “Well, all right then. Cas is a cool guy, I wouldn’t want you to be a jerk to him for no reason.”

“Geez, Sam, I won’t.”

“Sam, Dean, where are you?” Becky called.

Sam grinned. “Time to work.”

Dean punched his arm, hard. “I’m going to kill you for this.”

~*~

They first did group shots in front of a giant picture of Disney castle, just standing and smiling, then sitting and smiling, then waving and smiling. Dean’s face was starting to hurt. Then it was time for individual shots.

Charlie had really gone all out with the sets, and they each had a different one. Dean’s had a little stone window on one side, where he spent what felt like hours kneeling beside and pouting fetchingly into the camera (Charlie’s words, not his). Then he had a tiny kitchen and a four-poster bed, which he pretended to cook in and sprawled across, respectively. The last part was the worst, when they handed him a broom and had him dance around the room. He fell twice, and Sam laughed both times. They would never find his body.

Charlie and Becky were both thrilled, however, and he was finally free to change into his beloved jeans and a band t-shirt, which he did immediately. One of the girls helped him unpin the wig—damn thing was heavy and _painful_ —and he carefully washed every trace of makeup off his face.

By the time he was done, he’d missed half of Sam’s shoot. He got the idea, however; it was all fighting poses and mock combat. Sam looked like a complete badass. The bastard.

Despite his comfortable costume, Sam was almost as quick as Dean to follow Charlie into the changing room. He completely missed Jess’s shoot, which was too bad for him, because it was awesome.

Her background looked like a forest, and she posed with her hands on her hips, looking fiercely into the distance, then with her bow in a variety of poses. The coolest, though, was when they brought in a real, live horse for her to sit on. It turned out Jess had ridden horses as a kid, and she delighted Becky with her willingness and ability to do daring poses, even tucking her skirt into her boot and doing a handstand.

She was definitely a keeper.

Finally, it was Cas’s turn. Someone had built part of a staircase in his set, and he spent ages sweeping down the stairs with one hand on the rail, curtsying and smiling and totally comfortable in his get-up. Then he posed in front of a massive bookshelf, trailing his fingers down the spines, or sitting on the floor with his skirt spread around him and a book open in his hand. He was even a good sport about needing help to get up again.

Dean was just starting to wonder if Sam had fallen down a well and needed to be rescued when he and Charlie reappeared. Dean almost suffocated himself laughing so hard. Sam was wearing a blue suit with tails, but more importantly, he had hair glued all over his face and to his hands. His overly long hair was loose around his shoulders, and he looked murderous.

“Oh my god,” Jess said, leaning against Dean as she tried to control her own laughter.

“Yeah, whatever, jerks,” Sam said, sweeping by them in a high dudgeon.

Cas at least kept a straight face, though his eyes danced with laughter. “My prince,” he said, curtsying deeply.

“I’d like the two of you to dance, please,” Charlie said, looking pleased with herself for this little trick.

Cas, looking very delicate next to Sam, put one of Sam’s hands on his waist and grasped the other. “Shall we?”

Sam finally chuckled and relaxed. “Okay, joke’s on me. Come on, Belle, let’s dance.”

Somehow, Sam already knew how to dance, and they waltzed smoothly past furiously clicking cameras. Dean was irrationally annoyed. “He danced with me first,” he told Jess.

She gave him a weird look.

“I’m just saying.”

They finished the dance with a dramatic dip, which Becky loved, and then Sam dropped Cas on the floor.

“You bastard!” Cas said, flailing like a turtle on its back. “I can’t even roll over in this damn thing!”

Everyone laughed this time, and with a muttered curse Cas reached back and unzipped his dress, wiggling out of it.

“Next time, I prefer something without hoops,” he said, eyeing them all with calm dignity despite his knee high stockings, layered petticoats and that weird upper garment that made it look like he had breasts. “I’m going to go get changed, now.”

Sam cursed and spit out some of the hair glued to his face. “It keeps getting stuck in my mouth,” he complained to Jess.

Dean, comfortable in his own clothes, said nothing. Maybe this experience hadn’t been completely unbearable.

~*~

There was much good-natured ribbing over dinner that night, but they were all tired and went to bed early. Dean wasn’t even surprised when Cas disappeared from his spot at the table and reappeared already in bed, even though Dean went straight to their room. Tomorrow was another break day, and he had a plan. He set his cell phone alarm for 5:30, put it on vibrate, and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans.

He was going to catch Cas in the act if it was the last thing he did.

~*~

Only years of Dad’s training kept Dean from jumping out of his skin when his phone went off. But he remembered how to assess a situation without giving himself away, so only a sharp intake of breath gave away his wakefulness.

It was a good thing, too, because Cas was up and moving around the room. Dean felt a little like a creep as he watched Cas’s silhouette—the sun wasn’t up yet, for fuck’s sake, why was he even awake?—while he lay in bed fully clothed. It had seemed perfectly reasonable last night, but now he felt like a stalker.

Maybe this is what it was like to be Becky.

Well, no help for it. He had to keep his eyes cracked to follow the progress of Cas’s shadow, because the guy was really, disturbingly silent as he moved around the room. Still, no amount of stealth skills on Cas’s part could keep the door hinges from squeaking. 

Dean kept thinking this right up until Cas stepped up to the window, briefly illuminated by the faint promise of sunrise, and climbed out. Dean choked back a noise and scrambled out of bed, forgetting his attempt to be sneaky, and just managed to catch sight of Cas jumping off the roof of the porch thing near their window. The porch was a good eight feet to the right of their window, so how Cas even got over there was a mystery. Cas smoothly somersaulted the landing and disappeared across the lawn. In a conventional way this time, by running.

Still. What the fuck? They were two, very tall stories off the ground!

Dean grabbed his shoes and ran for the door. Now he just had to know. Like, for science. Or something.

No one else was awake yet (not even the damn sun), so it was simple enough for Dean to slip out of the house, calling on some ill-got stealth skills from his teenage years. He stopped on the front step to put on his shoes, because the grass was covered with dew, which was something he’d never actually witnessed for himself and hoped he never would again. It was way too damn early.

By the time he finally made it around the house Cas was, of course, long gone, but there was just enough light for Dean to make out a set of footprints in the wet grass. So he followed them across the vast lawn to a little hill, where he nearly swallowed his own tongue.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean squeaked.

“Sun salutations,” Cas said, not even having the decency to look startled by Dean’s abrupt appearance.

Dean made a strangled noise.

Castiel arched his back, still perfectly calm. “It’s yoga. I teach it, remember?”

“Okay, but… why are you naked?” Dean decided to pretend that his voice hadn’t cracked in the middle of that sentence.

Cas shrugged and moved and oh god Dean had to look away now which he probably should have done earlier come to think of it. “Why not?”

Dean made the same mortified, dying llama noise that he mocked Sam endlessly for and clapped a hand over his eyes, sitting before he lost his balance and made an even bigger ass of himself.

“It’s safe to look now,” Cas said, an interminable amount of time later, and with an entirely unacceptable level of amusement in his voice. 

Dean cracked an eye open, and found Cas kneeling about two inches from his face, grinning. Dean was almost afraid to look, especially since his eyes were level with Cas’s sweaty shoulders, but fortunately he’d put on some pants. His wide, sincere smile really lit up his face, even more than the early sunlight slanting across it.

Dean really wanted to kick himself for even _thinking_ something like that, because, what the hell?

“So, hey,” Dean said, hoping he wasn’t as red as he thought he was and Jesus Christ could he sound any more awkward?

“I’m going to practice tai chi now,” Cas said, considerately ignoring Dean’s social incompetence. “If that won’t offend your delicate sensibilities. Not that that should even matter, since you’re the one stalking me.” He rose smoothly to his feet and proceeded to completely ignore Dean, standing in an awkward-looking way and waving his hands around, which okay, weird. This did explain why he favored these loose, wide-legged pants, because he was forever stretching his legs out or doing slow-motion kicks that would have been next to impossible to do in jeans. It didn’t take a lot of imagination to guess that he wasn’t wearing anything underneath, not that Dean _was_ imagining… that (or needed to, since he’d already seen it all, a traitorous little voice supplied helpfully).

“This doesn’t look much like you were demonstrating at dinner the other night,” Dean said. “Hey, isn’t tai chi that thing old Chinese ladies do in parks?” He was pretty sure he’d seen this on the Discovery Channel.

Cas sighed with his whole body. “As a low-impact martial art, it is frequently practiced by the elderly,” he said, “and as it originated in China, many Chinese people are familiar with it. Of course, China makes up about a sixth of the world’s population, and that’s not including people who identify as Chinese but live elsewhere, so statistically, chances are that almost anything is or has been done by a Chinese person somewhere, sometime.”

Dean blinked. “You are so weird.”

“You’re really one to talk,” Cas said. “You still haven’t provided a satisfactory explanation for why you’re even here, not that I think you actually have one.”

Dean didn’t have a good answer to that, so he just sat and watched Castiel for a bit. The rising sun reflected off the sweat on his bare chest, though why he was getting sweaty doing what was basically fancy walking around, Dean didn’t know. Though it did remind him that he should probably do a workout this morning himself, surrounded as he was by health nuts. Real working out, though, running, pushups, maybe some weight-lifting if he could find the equipment.

“Stop thinking so loudly, it’s distracting,” Cas said. “This is a macho bullshit free zone.”

“How could you possibly know what I was just thinking?” Dean asked.

“I’m a little bit psychic,” Cas said, perfectly deadpan.

Dean kind of believed him.

“You’re also doing pretend bicep curls with your left arm.”

That bastard.

“How can you stand this?” Dean asked, a few minutes later. “This is so boring.”

Cas sighed again. “It’s meditative, connecting your mind, body and spirit, you ignoramus. Why are you still here if you think it’s such a waste of time?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’ll keep it down,” Dean said. “I was just wondering where you went all day. But I seem to have found your Batcave.”

“Yes, you’re very clever.”

“You know, you could hang out sometimes, during the day, if you wanted. Sam and Jess are kind of doing the relationship thing, and we could, I don’t know, watch tv or something.”

“I don’t really watch tv.”

“Or play chess,” Dean said, through gritted teeth. 

Castiel actually stopped tai chi-ing and looked at Dean. “I have some work to do this morning, but maybe after that? Do you actually have a chessboard?”

“Well, no. But a house this big, there’s probably some games somewhere, I should think.”

“I’d be honored to have you kick my ass at chess, then.”

~*~

Dean spent the next twenty minutes on Sam’s phone, googling tai chi and yoga and the population of China (holy shit that was a lot of people) and stuffing his face with pancakes. 

Sam stole the phone back after he caught Dean watching videos of this gorgeous woman teaching Hot Naked Yoga (yes please) even when Dean protested that it was for legitimate research purposes. He also tried to sneak a fruit slice onto the tiny corner of Dean’s pancakes that weren’t smothered in syrup, which, gross.

“I don’t know what you’re doing awake already, but it had better not be to watch porn on my phone,” Sam said, making the dying llama sound accompanied by the grandmotherly cluck of disapproval. Ah, normalcy.

“Is that the real reason you were awake so early?” Cas said, coming in and casually sitting cross-legged on the table. “Pornography can be a healthy means of sexual expression.”

Sam was past the point of being fazed by Cas’s public inappropriateness. “Not the stuff Dean watches.”

“Oh really?” Cas asked, sounding intrigued.

“Do you really want to offend Jess?” Dean said, a little desperately.

Jess laughed into her muesli. “You’ll have to try harder than that. I was in an amateur porn movie once.”

“You _were?_ ” Sam said, looking torn between awe and jealousy.

“Yep,” Jess said, pretending not to notice Sam’s reaction.

Damn, she was good.

Cas stole one of Dean’s pancakes. “I still want to hear more about Dean’s unusual tastes,” he said, pouring a handful of chocolate chips on his stolen pancake and folding it in half like a taco. He picked it up with his hands and took a bite.

“Dude, that’s awesome,” Dean said, hurrying towards the stack warming in the oven. “I’m getting one.”

“How about some Vitamin C!” Sam called after him.

Dean slid into his seat with a bag of butterscotch chips—because that was _even more awesome_ —before glancing back at Cas, frowning. “I get that you eat meat and everything, but isn’t yoga supposed to be about balance with yourself and nature or some shit? Are chocolate chip pancakes really appropriate for your… lifestyle, or whatever?”

“Did you look up yoga on Wikipedia or something?” Cas asked conversationally, helping himself to another pancake.

Dean flushed and stuffed half a pancake in his mouth. “No… god, that’s amazing. Why didn’t I know about this?”

Sam looked scandalized. “Do you have to talk with your mouth full?”

Dean opened his mouth all the way just to be a dick.

“Eurgh… wait, is Cas the reason you were watching yoga porn this morning?” Sam said, little brother instincts honing in with their usual precision.

Dean choked on his pancake.

Cas, the bastard, just laughed. “The answer to your question on my ‘lifestyle’ is that I’ve always believed that if I worked out that day, I can eat whatever I want.”

“See, I told you that’s how that works!” Dean said.

Sam made a frowny face. “It’s really not, Dean…”

Cas hopped off the table. “As to yoga porn, if you were that curious, I could have left my pants off,” he said, and ninja’d out before Dean could say anything.

Sam and Jess both gawked at Dean, who tried to crawl under the table and die.

“I can’t wait to hear this explanation,” Jess said.

“I just saw him doing yoga, okay,” Dean said. “It was an accident.” Sort of.

“And pants?” Sam asked.

“Apparently he practices naked,” Dean mumbled.

Sam and Jess laughed at him, because they were heartless and bad friends.

“No, but you guys were watching, right?” Dean said, desperate to change the subject. “Did he actually teleport, or was it more of a faster-than-a-speeding-bullet type thing?”

Sam dumped a glass of water over Dean’s head.

~*~

Since Sam and Jess were even worse company than usual (they kept glancing at Dean and bursting into giggles), Dean decided it would be a good idea to explore the house. He wasn’t looking for Cas, because Cas had said he was busy this morning and Dean was perfectly capable of entertaining himself for a few hours.

Besides, who knew if Cas confined his penchant for nudity to the freakishly early hours.

For the most part, the house was fairly normal, if vastly over-sized. But off in the western corner was an honest-to-god turret, with a little conical roof at the top, like a god-damned princess tower or something, and Dean was intrigued by it. He couldn’t say anything to Sam, because that was just asking for a lifetime of Rapunzel jokes, especially in light of yesterday.

In retrospect, Dean really should have guessed that that was where Cas would be.

He was sitting properly in a chair, the first time Dean had seen such a thing (except while Cas was wearing the hoop skirt, which was probably a special circumstance), dude liked to sprawl, and he was still wearing that hideous, over-sized trenchcoat, even though it was at least ninety degrees in here.

“What are you doing up here?” Dean asked, poking around the room. 

“I was hoping for some privacy,” Cas said. “But I suspect I will not be getting any.”

“This is one round room,” Dean said, because Cas hadn’t actually told him to leave, and he wasn’t exactly the shy type who would worry about hurting Dean’s feelings.

Cas sighed. “If I give you a cookie will you go away?”

Dean perked up a little. “You have cookies?”

“No.”

“…damn.”

“Don’t you have something else to do?”

Dean shook his head. “I really, really don’t. Not, uh, that you were my last resort or anything. Er, that didn’t come out quite right.”

Cas snorted. “It’s like shoving your foot in your mouth is your superpower or something.”

Dean opened his mouth to ask if Cas’s was invisibility or teleportation, but his brain was faster than his mouth for once and instead he hovered next to Cas and read over his shoulder. “That’s a lot of numbers.”

“Financial documents,” Cas said, neatening several stacks. It looked like it had rained paper in here.

“So you’re… gathering your riches around you like a dragon hoarding gold?” Dean hazarded.

Cas laughed. “Not hardly. I’m checking on my progress towards my school. I’ve been working on these plans for years. The down payment on the place, rent, utilities, license, re-modeling, upkeep, advertising…”

“Sounds complicated,” Dean said, and he meant it. Bobby asked him to do the books at the garage once, and he never asked again. “You’re like, you know, what’s his name… Terry Pratchett?”

Cas stared at him for a moment. “I think you mean _Bob Cratchit_ , you Neanderthal, and if you do, you’re still wrong. There’s a misconception that he managed finances, but his duties were mostly related to correspondence.”

It took Dean a moment to sort out the nerd speech, but he was related to Sam, so he had a lot of practice. “No, but… doesn’t Mickey, like, count money or something, and make little notes in his book, like yours? No, wait, I’m thinking of Scrooge…”

“Who?”

“Dude, Mickey Mouse, Scrooge McDuck, Mickey’s Christmas Carol. It’s a classic.”

Cas shook his head, a little line appearing between his eyebrows as he frowned at Dean like he was the strange one here. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Dean returned Cas’s how-can-there-be-such-an-uncultured-heathen-on-the-same-planet-as-me look, because seriously, who’d never heard of _Mickey Mouse?_ “It’s an animated movie from the eighties. And more importantly, a cultural icon.”

“Oh. I told you, I don’t watch a lot of tv.”

Dean made a pained noise in his throat. “Dude, what do you _do_ all day?”

“Mostly I work. I teach three classes a day and I work as a janitor in my free time. Or I make plans.” Cas gestured to the nest of papers.

“Where’s your calculator? Do you have one of those with the tiny roll of paper and typewriter keys?” Bobby had one of those, and Dean had gotten his fingers smacked a few times for using up entire rolls of paper clacking away on the thing. What, it made a cool noise!

Cas’s face scrunched up again. “I’m not very good with computers,” he admitted.

“Wait, what? A calculator’s not a computer, well, I guess it is, sort of, but not really.”

“Well that clears that right up.”

“Does that mean you’re doing this all in your head?” Dean asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Cas moved his elbow so Dean could see numbers scrawled across the paper there. “I use scratch paper.”

“ _Wow_ ,” Dean said. “And I thought I was technology-deficient. At least I have cassette tapes. What do you have, a phonograph?”

“When I travel I accompany myself on my ukulele,” Cas said.

“Bwuh?” Dean said, trying to imagine this. It wasn’t as farfetched as he might have thought.

“I’m just fucking with you, I’ve never even been in the same room as a ukulele,” Cas said, laughing. “You’re such an easy mark.”

“Your face is an easy mark,” Dean said, which wasn’t his most brilliant comeback ever.

Cas didn’t deign to respond to that. “Anyway, my father was an accountant, and he taught me a great deal about how to manage a business.”

“And you’re still sleeping at the Y?” Dean asked, before he really thought about it.

“He died when I was ten,” Cas said. “I don’t really get along with the rest of my family, so I manage on my own. The only thing I took with me was this coat, and that was my dad’s.”

“Oh, um, that sucks dude,” Dean said. He fidgeted uncomfortably. This would probably be the appropriate time for him to share something about his family, but he never talked about them with anyone, so instead the silence was just stretching on and on until it would cover them like tar and they’d be discovered fossilized in hundreds of years like dinosaurs.

“Well, I’m officially distracted,” Cas said. “Want to see what the game situation is here?”

“Sure,” Dean said, relieved to interrupt his musings over which dinosaur he would be. “But just so you know, I made up that chess thing. I don’t even know how to play chess.”

In the end, they had to ask Becky if there were any games. They played two rounds of Scrabble (Cas won), two of Battleship (Dean won), and half a game of Monopoly before they called the game on account of it taking way too damn long.

Sam and Jess tracked them down about then, wondering where the two of them had gotten to, and joined them for several rounds of Twister. Much fun was had by all, even though Cas won every time.

He really was freakishly flexible, and he was strong, too, able to hold the most ridiculous positions for ages. He even managed to stay up when Sam deliberately fell on him, because Sam was a sore loser and not at all because Dean had tripped him.

~*~

Fate was shining on them, because despite their late night of messing around, the photoshoot didn’t start until nine.

“We’re going to shoot on location,” Charlie said, once they’d all assembled at the breakfast table. “Make sure you get plenty to eat, because we might not be back here until late.”

“Hey Jess, do you think you could hide a bagel in your purse?” Dean asked.

“For myself, maybe.”

“Heartless.”

They were loaded into a van, one of several, since they had to bring all the equipment and staff as well. 

“What are we doing that you can’t re-create it in the basement?” Dean asked Charlie, who was driving. “I mean, you made hell.”

“Yeah, that was pretty awesome, wasn’t it?” Charlie said, without modesty. “Today is really more Becky’s deal than mine. She wanted to make an ad, and the zoo insisted we meet certain conditions.”

Dean sat back, face a little green. “We’re going to be eaten by bears.”

“Or tigers,” Sam said.

“Or crocodiles,” Jess said.

“Or jellyfish,” Cas said.

Dean, Sam and Jess all turned to stare at Cas.

“What? They’ve got those-” he opened and closed his fingers “-you know.”

“I doubt it’s going to be jellyfish,” Dean said. “We couldn’t hold our breath that long.”

~*~

Dean was pretty sure that Cas didn’t relax until they were in wardrobe and getting wrapped in stylish (and therefore ineffective) winter gear, not wetsuits. Cas loved the long scarf Balthazar found for him, and he had it wrapped a little too high so he could bury his nose in it.

If Dean was the kind of guy who noticed stuff like that, he’d say it was adorable.

As it was, he was mostly concerned with how freaking hot it was right now. It was the middle of summer, after all. Also, Cas was so wrapped up in his scarf—ha ha—that he wasn’t going on about random, inappropriate stuff as usual. In fact, he hadn’t said anything to Dean all morning, except to share his jellyfish trauma, but that was really more to the whole group. Maybe he was annoyed about yesterday?

“Okay, follow me,” Becky said. “And don’t bother the animals unless specifically invited. The publicity manager’s an old friend of mine, and I’d like to continue speaking to her.”

Dean scrupulously kept his hands from touching even the walls after that.

“The zoo is trying something innovative,” Becky said as they walked. Since they were in the gray, featureless staff access halls, it was a relief to have some distraction. “They use large exhibits that imitate the animal’s natural habitat as much as possible, in order to keep them as comfortable as possible. It also gives viewers a more realistic view of how the animal really behaves in the wild.”

“That’s a great idea,” Jess said. “Does that mean they include more than one species in the same exhibit?”

“Yes, they do. They’re carefully not to put predators and prey animals in the same habitat, of course. But this particular exhibit is the more traditional one animal only, though they imported a great deal of climate-appropriate plant life. As you’ll soon see, they still tried to make the environment as natural as possible.”

She pushed open a door, and the four models were instantly hit with a blast of cold air. Snow crunched under their feet as they stepped into what did indeed look like a slice of another world. Three people wearing badges that marked them as zoo staff were waiting, and the cameras were being set up amidst much swearing and cursing of the cold.

Dean was starting to wonder if there even were animals here when he looked down and saw a penguin sitting on his foot. It opened its beak and made a weird squawk/honk sound.

Dean startled and fell on his ass in the snow. His hands were hidden in his wool coat, but the wet immediately started to sink through his jeans.

“Smooth,” Cas said, offering him a hand up and a smile. Dean tried to get a read on his face, but Cas had apparently given up his penchant for staring in favor of chasing the penguins through the snow.

“They’re so cute,” Jess said. “Are we taking pictures with the penguins today?”

“Yes,” Becky said, swathed in an enormous pink parka. “The penguin exhibit will be opening shortly, and I offered to donate some pictures for the promos.”

“And we’re here to make sure nothing happens to the penguins,” one of the zoo staffpeople said.

Jess, who had crouched to pet the penguin, withdrew her hand guiltily. So, to Dean’s amusement, did Sam.

“Well, let’s get started then,” Becky said, clapping her hands.

When Charlie was in charge, it was very clear what they were supposed to be doing. Becky had a looser management style—or, Dean suspected, no management style—so there were a few rough spots. Also, the penguins weren’t particularly interested in cooperating. But once Becky told the camerapeople that no one was leaving until they had the pictures she wanted, they started to get creative.

Sam and Jess got the first successful picture. The two of the were sitting side-by-side, heads close together, laughing and petting the penguins crowded between them (Becky promised to photoshop out the fish used to bribe the penguins into place). Dean was peeking at the pictures on the computer monitor, and he was surprised and pleased to see how happy and relaxed Sam looked. Jess too, of course, but Sam was his brother, and his life hadn’t always been easy.

Cas was the next to get a good picture, and probably would have managed earlier if he wasn’t busy kicking up snow everywhere and blocking the shot. The photographer eventually took the camera off the stand and followed him around, finally snapping a perfect shot of Cas making a snow angel, snowflakes clinging to his lashes, and a cluster of penguins pecking at his hair.

The penguins didn’t seem to like Dean very much, and he was starting to get discouraged as the photographer rejected pose after pose. Charlie stepped in and suggested they turn on the snow machine, to add some atmosphere, and a zoo staffperson gave him a young penguin to hold, since this one couldn’t run away. 

It only took one shot after that. Personally, Dean thought he looked ridiculous. It was a close-up of his face, his eyes practically closed because there was snow blowing everywhere, the penguin sitting in his cupped hands and biting his nose. In the picture it looked more like a kiss, but Dean had the Hello Kitty bandaid to prove otherwise.

Also, he was going to kill Cas for that. Why did he even have those?

Anyway, Becky, Charlie, Sam and Jess all aww’ed over the picture, so Dean figured he was stuck with that. At least no one he knew was likely to come to this zoo and see the posters.

Cas was still playing in the snow, and he was completely surrounded by inquisitive penguins. They seemed to have adopted him as their new god or something.

“I should really feed them now,” a zoo staffperson said.

“We’ll get out of your hair, then,” Becky said. “Thanks for this.”

Dean ended up having to pull Cas away from his new friends, his face bright red with cold and his scarf much the worse for wear after all the avian attention. “Come on, you, before you turn into a penguin.”

“Tempting, but if I were a bird, I would prefer to be able to fly,” Cas said.

“Weirdo,” Dean said, forgetting that Cas was possibly annoyed with him.

Cas shrugged. “I think I would like to fly.”

Dean shuddered. “Not me, no way.”

“Dean’s afraid of airplanes,” Sam said.

“Well at least I’m not afraid of clowns,” Dean said. “Airplanes crash, you know.”

“Did you really have to share that with everyone?” Sam whined.

The four of them were dragging their feet, trying to avoid getting in the middle of Becky fighting with the photographer.

“What’s his problem, anyway?” Dean asked.

“I don’t think most photographs where it looks like it’s snowing actually involve snow,” Jess said. “Not that I’m an expert, but I do watch tv sometimes. They use fake stuff. The wet and the cold might be dangerous for the equipment.”

“Well that wouldn’t have been good for the penguins,” Sam pointed out, still wearing a soppy ‘cute animals’ expression. “Besides, if they take pictures outside, it must rain occasionally. I’m sure everything will be all right.”

And either he was right or the photographer got exasperated with Becky’s relentless optimism, because he threw up his hands and stomped off.

“Hurry it up, guys!” Becky called. “Last day of shooting tomorrow, and I have something big planned!”

“That sounds ominous,” Dean said.

~*~

“Okay, what’s going on?” Sam asked.

Dean startled. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been weird ever since we got back from the zoo. You insisted on watching me study instead of eating dinner, even though you haven’t eaten all day and you’re _always_ hungry. And now I’m reading _Moby Dick_ right in front of you and you haven’t made a single snide comment.

Dean snickered.

“See, now that’s more like what I was expecting. What did Cas do now?”

Dean jumped violently, nearly falling out of his chair and onto the floor. “What do you mean?” Crap, did his voice actually just break?

Sam rolled his eyes. “Subtle. About as subtle as the way it’s been ‘Cas did this’ and ‘Cas said that’ non-stop since we got here.”

“Shut up,” Dean mumbled.

“Yeah, that’s really going to convince me,” Sam said, gearing up for one of his marathon talk-it-out with bonus hugging sessions. “I told Jess I couldn’t study tonight so I could hold your hand through whatever your crisis is.”

Dean fidgeted with the comforter on Sam’s bed and didn’t answer.

Sam sighed heavily. “Look, just go apologize to Cas or whatever and get over it already.”

Dean gaped. “Um, coming out of left field much?”

“Dean. You’re practically clinging to me after you haven’t had two words for me in days.”

Dean sat up; that was something that warranted a response. “Do you feel like I’ve been ignoring you?”

“Of course not. You’ve been spending time with your friend and I’ve been spending time with mine. It’s fine. It’s what grown-ups do. But hiding in my room so you don’t have to deal with Cas is the opposite of grown-up. So grow up and fuck off.”

“Well… hey, what makes you think it was me that did something?”

“Uh, because it’s you? And you have an unparalleled ability to shove your foot in your mouth? Because you’ve sitting here watching me do my homework instead of stalking your new boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

“I notice you didn’t deny that you’re stalking him.”

“We were _talking_ , in a totally normal, non-stalker-y way. And we aren’t now because I’m _busy_.”

“They only thing you’re busy with is annoying me. Either talk to him or mope somewhere else. I mean it.”

Dean sat and fumed. 

“Look, if he’s your boyfriend, you know that’s fine, right? Although if you could tell Jess you started going out yesterday, I’d appreciate it. I never win our bets.”

Dean choked. “Look, I don’t know where you’re getting this idea, but we are _not dating_. Really.”

Sam fixed him with what, before Cas, Dean would have called an intense stare. Dude could stare. “Hmm. Well, I thought… sorry, Dean. I’m happy you’ve made a friend, of course. But if you’re not having a big gay crisis, then what the hell’s the problem?”

“It’s weird now!” Dean said, knowing he sounded like he was whining and unable to help himself.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Sam said, putting down his book. “Weird since when? Did you have a fight in the car?”

“No, since yesterday afternoon!”

Sam blinked. “Umm… what? Jess and I hung out with you guys last night, and you seemed happier than I’ve seen you in a long time. And nothing seemed off at the photoshoot today. You two have been practically joined at the hip since you met, and it was just more of the same.”

“You’re one to talk,” Dean grumbled, trying to picture himself and Cas from the outside. Did they spend too much time together? Had Dean been bothering Cas this whole time?

“Whatever you’re thinking, just stop it,” Sam said. “Stop being cryptic and tell me exactly what happened, so I can fix it.”

Dean scuffed his foot on the floor, but apparently he had reached that unlikely place where he’d actually rather talk about it than be alone with his own thoughts. Stupid Cas. “Cas told me a-” Dean lowered his voice “-a really personal story.”

“…and? I only met the guy once, but he doesn’t seem to suffer from an excess of personal boundaries.”

“So he told me about his dad dying! And then I didn’t say anything!”

Sam just stared.

“What? Say something!”

“I’m sure he’s not, like, keeping a tally chart of your Friendship Level, Dean. That’s not how it works.”

“But he’s probably wondering what my problem is, and regretting talking to me at all,” Dean said, wringing his hands together. “He trusted me with something like that and I was all ‘let’s play chess’. I don’t even like chess!”

“Dean. Since you obviously are way too close to this, or just too stupid to figure this out, just listen to me and take my word for it: he is not thinking… whatever it is that you think he’s thinking. He is not on the phone with his brother having a breakdown about his inadequacy at chess. He told you because he wanted to tell you, and if you decide you want to tell him about Dad later I’m sure he’ll listen, and if you want to fangirl over his innovative use of chocolate chips in pancakes for an hour, I’m sure he’ll love that, too. Now get your emotionally stunted ass out of my room; I want to make out with my new girlfriend.”

Dean slunk away, annoyed with Sam and himself and Cas. It wasn’t until he was already in his own room that he realized he hadn’t punched Sam for making a bet about him hooking up with Cas. What the hell?

Cas was sitting on his bed, bent in half as he reached past his toes. “Hello, Dean,” he said into his knees.

Dean was immediately suspicious. What happened to ninja Cas? “Hey.”

Cas sighed and unfolded himself. “What is it?”

“I told Sam everything was weird,” Dean said. “That jerk, I owe him the biggest I told you so ever.”

Cas scrunched up his face in that adorable frown that he had. “Maybe that made sense in your head, but I do not see what that response has to do with what I said.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said. He took a deep breath. “There really isn’t a story or anything. It was just dad and Sam and me, and then there was an accident and it was just me and Sam, and I did the best I could with him, but Sam’s so smart that he knew he would rock college someday and there just wasn’t any money for that, so I dropped out of high school and got a job and now he’s going to law school and that’s who we are.” Dean took a deep breath in. There, he’d said it.

Cas was staring—not that that was anything new, but for once he looked a little confused. “Is that what you’ve been freaking out about all this time? Some kind of quid pro quo share-time? You seemed fine yesterday, but today you’ve been jumpier than a long-tailed cat in a rocking chair store.”

Despite the serious conversation they were having—about _emotions_ , no less—Dean found himself choking down inappropriate laughter. “What did you say? Jesus, I think my dad’s friend Missouri said shit like that, and she’s old enough to be my grandmother!”

“It was a perfectly appropriate analogy,” Cas said primly.

“You are the most ridiculous person,” Dean said, still laughing.

“Thank you, I’ll take that as a compliment. Now, about yesterday: I’m sorry if my oversharing made you uncomfortable; I do that a lot. I’m sorry if you felt obligated to tell me something you’d rather keep private.”

“No, I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t want you to know,” Dean said. This was probably why he didn’t have any friends, could he be anymore awkward? “And, okay, I’m not really a sharer, but it’s not like my life is overflowing with people to share with, you know? It’s more lack of practice, than lack of desire, if you know what I mean. But don’t tell Sam I said that.”

Cas must have gotten something out of that babble because he smiled gently. “Well then, I’m honored by your trust, Dean.” 

Jesus, who said things like that? “Well, fuck,” Dean said. “It’s not like I even told you anything really private or anything, or that there’s anything terribly interesting about me to share anyway.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Cas said.

Dean shrugged. “What’s there to say? Cars are the only thing I know, and I only got the job I have because Bobby’s an old friend of the family. Literally the only thing I’ve done since then is get my GED, and that’s only because I didn’t want Sam to be ashamed of having an idiot for a brother.”

“There was never any chance of that happening,” Cas said. “Sam obviously loves you, and his success is a reflection of how well you raised him.”

Dean flushed. “Well, I don’t know…”

“All those cars you fix—the owners can’t get to work of school or wherever without your work. You have nothing to be ashamed of for what you do. And if you’re not happy there, do something else! Fix helicopters instead—”

“Those really aren’t at all similar—”

“—or build robot armies!”

“—okay now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“Or use some of your other skills. Open a diner and specialize in pancake tacos and pie, volunteer at an afterschool program for kids, become a nanny to the stars.”

“Cas, what the hell, those are all completely crazy ideas.”

Cas put a hand on Dean’s arm. “You clearly need a little more crazy in your life. This weekend is a good start. But think about it—what do you _want_ to do?”

“I…don’t know if I’ve ever really thought about it.”

Cas gently knocked his head against Dean’s. “Well, maybe you should. I don’t know any celebrities or helicopter pilots, but the Y has a lot of kids programs, and they’re always looking for volunteers. Or you could try this cool new thing, I think they call it ‘the google’.”

Dean laughed, totally ruining the serious mood of the conversation. “Yeah, okay, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“See that you do,” Cas said, with great dignity. “I’ve enjoyed being awkward and socially inept with you; I’d hate for this week to be the end of it.”

There. Why couldn’t Dean have said something cool like that instead of freaking out for a whole day and then blurting out his entire life story?

Oh my god. Dean was actually a middle school girl.

“Whatever you’re thinking about, just stop,” Cas said. “Turn off your brain and go to sleep. This will all seem ridiculous in the morning.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Or else I’ll do something so crazy this will look normal by comparison.”

And with that threat hanging over him, Dean brushed his teeth and curled up under the covers of Becky’s ostentatious guest bed.

~*~

“I see you two made up then?” Sam said with a smirk.

“Shut up,” Dean said around a mouthful of breakfast.

“Well, you know the world’s coming to an end when you’re not eating.”

“Good morning, Dean,” Jess said.

“Good morning, Jess. I got some of that weird stuff you like,” Dean said, pointing to the muesli.

Sam made an offended noise. “What? Why didn’t you get me any food?”

“Well, Sam, maybe it has something to do with your girlfriend greeting me civilly and you being a snarky asshole.”

Sam grumbled and went to get himself cereal.

“I’ll have you know that I am susceptible to bribery,” Jess said. “You can get me breakfast any time.”

“So have you packed yet?” Sam asked.

“What?” Dean said.

“You know, packed? We’ll probably be tired after the photoshoot tonight, and we still have to drive all the way home.”

Dean froze with the fork halfway to his mouth. Somehow, he’d forgotten that this week’s shenanigans weren’t his real life. And sure, he could have done without the makeup and dress-up and pictures—and the Balthazar—but the rest of it had been… well, fun.

“You forgot, didn’t you,” Sam said, giving Dean a sympathetic look.

“We should all hang out sometime,” Jess suggested. “I could go for another game night.”

“Yeah, you should get your school friends together,” Dean said.

Sam gave him a look he couldn’t interpret.

“What?”

“I meant with you, Dean. Hell, we can invite Cas, too. He doesn’t work that far away from us.”

“I suppose that could be fine,” Dean said. “If I’m not working, I mean. Is that weird, though? Do people just hang around and play stupid games and eat pancakes and shit?”

“Dean… you realize that that’s called ‘dating’, right? Or friendship.”

“…huh.”

Jess patted his arm. “Maybe you should try it sometime?”

“I’ll think about it.”

Sam spit out his juice. “Excuse me while I run out and buy a lottery ticket.”

Dean tipped Sam’s chair over backwards, grinning as Sam yelped, his long limbs flailing uselessly as he went down.

Jess won another million points when she just put her head on the table and laughed.

~*~

It was a little weird that Cas never turned up for breakfast at all, but Dean was determined not to overthink things this time. He probably just got caught up in working out or something.

Or not.

Cas was already downstairs, sitting in one of the makeup chairs while Balthazar did up his face. The guy was supposed to be supervising hair and makeup and everything, not doing the work himself. And why was Cas looking at him like that? That was _Dean’s_ look!

“Whoa, breathe, Dean,” Sam said in his ear.

Dean’s breath hissed out through his teeth. “What is he—what are they—?”

“I’m just going to go… over there,” Jess said, edging away.

Sam pulled Dean into a corner and let him fume for a few minutes. “Okay, but what exactly are you mad about, Dean?”

“I don’t know!”

“Well, why don’t you just think about it,” Sam said. “Jess is creating a distraction.”

As if on cue, there was a loud crash and the sound of Balthazar’s furious cursing.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the space to Sam’s right. If he knew why he was mad, he wouldn’t be hiding in the corner with Sam, obviously. And he could tell from the look on Sam’s face that _he_ knew, or thought he knew, exactly what Dean’s problem was. Why was Dean always the last one to know these things?

Sam settled into a gilded armchair, which was among the junk in the basement for no discernible reason, with the air of one who was prepared to wait all day.

Dean kicked the chair leg, which did nothing but make his toes sore, and peered out behind the edge of the sheet that hid them from view. Cas was standing under one of the lights, dust motes sparkling around him and making him look almost otherworldly. He was laughing with Jess as they helped set the chairs upright again. Balthazar wasn’t helping, probably because he was a lazy ass, but also because he was watching Cas bend over, mesmerized. Which he didn’t have any business doing, and Dean was going to march over there and make it perfectly clear that smarmy bastard that—

“Oh my god,” Dean said.

“Oh thank god, I was afraid I’d have to send Jess out for sustenance before you figured it out,” Sam said with an exaggerated sigh of relief.

“I _like_ him,” Dean said, still stunned by this revelation.

“Yes, but do you _like_ like him?” Sam asked, smugly.

Dean elbowed him in the stomach.

“Oof! Don’t blame me for your idiocy, Dean. It was practically love at first sight.”

Dean thought he might hyperventilate.

“Or, crush at first sight. Whatever.”

“But I’m not gay.”

“Dean, relax. If you’re gay, it’s fine, and if you’re bi, it’s fine, and if you’re totally straight and we’re all misreading this, it’s still fine. But seriously. I think you should go for it. Jess, too.”

“Yeah, I don’t know…”

“Can you at least hold it together for the rest of the day, or do I need to run interference between the two of you?”

“I don’t need a _chaperone_ , Sam.”

“Good, because it looks like Charlie’s found us. Smile.”

Dean snarled at Balthazar as he went by, which was almost the same thing. And Balthazar’s hasty step back warmed his heart.

~*~

“We’re doing something _really_ cool today!” Becky said, bouncing into the makeup area. “I can’t tell you how excited I am! Dean, Jess, you guys follow Charlie, you’re getting ready in another room. Sam and Cas, you two stay here. Balthazar knows what to do. I can’t wait!” She clapped her hands and danced back out again.

“My alarm increases proportionately to her excitement,” Cas said.

Dean laughed before he remembered that he was being awkward around Cas right now.

“Let’s go, peeps,” Charlie said, grabbing Dean and Jess’s arms and hauling them away. “We have a lot of work to do.”

The other “room” was just a huge white sheet on the floor with more sheets forming temporary walls on three sides. There were a few standing mirrors along the sides, but it was otherwise completely empty.

“Okay, put these on,” Charlie said, throwing a handful of clothes at them.

A bit of sorting revealed “these” to be two pairs of underwear and a bra, all in white. By mutual unspoken agreement, Dean and Jess turned their backs on each other to change. Dean tried not to listen to the rustle of clothing fall to the ground because (a) she was Sam’s girlfriend and (b) he was apparently gay now? At least a little?

“Great, now I want you to cover yourselves with this,” Charlie said, kicking their clothes unceremoniously to the side and handing them pots of some white gunk. “And make sure you stay on the sheet. We’re trying not to make more of a mess than absolutely necessary.”

“Uhh…” Dean said.

“Ugh, it’s cold,” Jess said, slathering some on her stomach. “What is this?”

“It’s a special body paint,” Charlie said. “I mixed it myself. It’s hard to find something that won’t rub off when you sweat. But don’t worry, it will wash right off if you use the counter-agent. I think.”

“Excuse me?” Dean said, pausing with his hands poised over his left calf. “I’m going back to work tomorrow, and I’d rather not look like the Pillsbury Doughboy.”

“Just tell them you’re considering a career in mime, you big baby,” Charlie said. “And it will come out. I’m like 72% sure. And considering the odds that the Rebellion would successfully destroy the Death Star, you should feel very secure with that.”

“You are dead to me,” Dean said, slathering the goop on his leg with a resigned sigh. It was cold, and had a weird texture. Not like sunscreen; more like wet flour, or runny clay. Gross.

“You’d better watch it if you don’t want to get any of this on your tongue,” Charlie said, brandishing a tube of the body paint/oobleck.

“What are you—mmph!” Dean glared as she spread lipstick generously over half his face.

“Quit whining, you have to cover your face anyway,” Charlie said. “I’m doing you a favor not making you put the regular stuff on your lips. It tastes like crap.”

“So does lipstick,” Dean said, talking through closed lips so he wouldn’t get more in his mouth.

“No comparison,” Charlie said, so firmly Dean wasn’t tempted to test it. “I made a special modified version for your lips. It tastes like apple pie.”

“Wait, really?”

“If you lick all of it off, you can just make do with the body paint,” Charlie scolded.

“Do I need to get under my clothes?” Jess asked.

“Try and get as much under your bra as you can, but just go to the hem of your underwear. We do have a costume for you to wear, but I’m not sure how much cleavage coverage we’ll end up with.”

“Got it.”

“Make sure you get your hair, too,” Charlie told Dean, going to help Jess with her face.

Dean wasn’t one of those people who spent a lot of time on his hair—a quick rinse in the shower and he called it a day—but he still grimaced as he spread the stuff through his hair. This was never going to come out.

By the time he was done, Charlie was back to help him with his back.

“So, what exactly are we doing?” Dean asked.

“You’ll find out soon! Now put this on.”

“This is a sheet.”

“Haven’t you ever been to a toga party? Here, like this.”

Charlie wrapped the sheet around his face then draped it over one shoulder, leaving most of his chest bare. She finished the look with a crown made out of plants, spray-painted white.

“Argh, you missed a spot,” she griped ruthlessly, dumping more and more stuff in his hair, then in his ear.

“Ergh!” Dean hissed, trying to squirm away.

He was sure he looked ridiculous, and this was incredibly uncomfortable.

“Whoa,” Jess said.

He turned. “Wow, you look awesome.”

“Yeah, you, too. I hope you’re not as uncomfortable as I am, though.”

“Wouldn’t count on it. We’ll just have to hope that they dipped Sam in black licorice or something. Maybe fire ants.”

“Fingers crossed.”

Charlie scolded them both for not painting the soles of their feet, then brought them each a pair of obnoxiously pink crocs. Their feet squished unpleasantly as they walked back to the photography area.

“At least the shoes will probably be ruined,” Dean whispered.

Jess snorted.

Sam and Cas were both waiting in perfectly ordinary, comfortable clothes.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean said.

“I’m sure you’ve probably guessed what we’re doing by now,” Becky said, appearing in their midst. “Sam and Cas are artists, and Jess and Dean are their sculptures. They pour their passion into their work, and when they finish, the statue comes to life. Do you understand the concept?”

“Um, sure,” Dean said. “But what does that actually mean we should do?”

“You have to feel it in your soul,” Becky said.

Sam kicked his shin. “If you roll your eyes any harder they’ll fall right out of your head,” he whispered.

“Maybe you’re not hearing this crap,” Dean whispered back.

“Well, Sam and Cas need to go to hair and makeup, so why don’t the two of you just… drip dry,” Charlie said, smirking.

Dean muttered unkind things under his breath.

‘Drip dry’ was a bit of a misnomer. As much as it looked like it, this wasn’t really paint. If was uncomfortable and sort of greasy-feeling, but it never got stiff like real paint would. A few clumps fell out of their hair—and Dean’s ear—which was, frankly, disgusting, but it could have been worse. Chafing, for example, was a serious concern of Dean’s.

Sam and Cas finally came back. Sam was wearing what looked like scrubs, splattered with paint the same shade as what covered Dean and Jess. Cas looked like a complete nutcase. He was wearing blue plaid pants and a black vest over his bare chest, along with one of those hats like from the Renaissance, complete with obnoxious gold tassel. He was also paint-splattered, and his arms from hand to elbow were as coated as Dean’s.

“Well, shall we get started, then?”

Sam and Jess went first, which was nice because Dean had literally no idea what he was going to do. This was a bit more adventurous than the creative lounging of previous shoots. 

Jess did something with her sheet so it looked like the end was fluttering behind her, and as Sam smoothed his hands down her arms, “finishing” her, she seemed to come to life, leaning up on her toes to kiss him.

Becky loved that, and she appropriated Balthazar to wipe the white stuff off Sam’s face between every picture so they could try various concepts of the “kiss of life”.

Dean was uncomfortable with how comfortable Balthazar was with this task.

However, this was less than helpful as far as his own inspiration was concerned. Unless he wanted to kiss Cas. Which he didn’t.

Okay well maybe he did. A little. A very little. He liked Cas as a person; he was funny and socially inappropriate and the most honest person Dean had ever met, all fine qualities, and Dean’d love to take him out for a game or a burger or a spin in the Impala, which Dean was absolutely stealing on the way out of here. You know, hang out. Not make out.

Okay, put like that, it really sounded like he wanted to date him and maybe he did and maybe he didn’t, but even he did want to date him they had to wait until at least the end of the date to kiss, and that was a sweet promise of a goodnight kiss, not a ‘literally bring me to life from my lonely statutory existence’.

It was possible that Dean was losing his mind. He was pretty sure he’d read that kissing rule in a magazine somewhere. Sans statue reference.

“Are you okay?” Cas asked.

Dean didn’t actually jump out of his skin, but it was a close thing. He half expected to see all the paint lying on the floor at his feet. “Errrmmm?”

“Becky is signaling us,” Cas said.

“Right.”

Hopefully Charlie’s promises about her gunk held up, because Dean was sweating. He could feel it trickling unpleasantly down the back of his neck.

“Relax,” Cas said. “It’s just a few pictures. We’ve been doing this all week.” He practically led Dean by the hand to stand in front of the camera.

The camera started flashing the minute they were in position, and Dean was as stiff as, well, a statute under Cas’s hands. Cas was starting to look concerned.

“That’s good, Dean,” Becky said. “I like the whole statute motif you’ve got going. But maybe a little more emergence?”

“Dean, are you all right?” Cas asked, so softly only Dean could hear. “You’re behaving very strangely.”

“I don’t want to kiss,” Dean blurted out.

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Okay… I can work with that.”

“But I also sort of do?” Dean said.

“Ah.” A slow smile broke out over Cas’s face, transforming it. He rested one hand on Dean’s bicep and rested the other on the side of his face, keeping Dean from looking away. “Well, I can work with that, too.”

This did nothing to solve Dean’s internal turmoil, but his body must know something his mind had not yet decided, because his whole body seemed to orient itself towards Cas, and even though he was pretty sure he hadn’t moved, they were suddenly impossibly close, his vision filled with nothing but Cas.

“That’s perfect,” Becky said. “We’ve got it, everyone.”

Dean rocked back on his heels, the moment broken. But that was undeniably a moment. Fuck.

~*~

Dean spent the next four hours in the shower with Charlie’s foul-smelling neutralizing agent, and even so he was pretty sure he would have paint in his ear until the end of time.

It did not, however, give him any more clarity about the Cas situation. If there even was a situation, which there may not have been.

“Oh my god,” Sam said, the moment Dean stepped out of the bathroom. “I’ll be in the other room where I won’t be smothered by your man angst.”

Dean threw his wet towel at the back of Sam’s head.

“What does he know?” Dean muttered, throwing his crap into his duffel. Sam had packed last night, of course, but since Dean wasn’t bothering with folding he didn’t need three freaking hours to get the job done. 

Once he was packed, he still had twenty minutes to kill before they were supposed to clear out. Becky had threatened a goodbye extravaganza, but someone, probably Charlie, had talked her down to champagne and finger foods. 

Dean was avoiding going down—no, he was packing, which wasn’t avoiding at all—and come to think of it, maybe he should have folded his clothes. Just in case.

“Sam sent me to get you,” Jess said, appearing in the doorway. “Personally I find it hard to believe that you’re turning down free food.”

“It’s probably shrimp and… and canapés,” Dean said. “Rich crap.”

“Oh my god,” Jess said, “you really are sulking. Come on, there are mini pastries and things.” She didn’t let him waffle any longer, grabbing him by the ear and hauling him out the door so quickly he barely grabbed his duffel in time.

He made it through the toasting and snacking without actually having to talk with Cas once, but his luck wore out on the doorstep just as he was about to make his escape.

Sam and Jess, the bastards, made themselves scarce. Even nosy Becky was elsewhere.

Dean flailed his arms in a futile effort to think of some clever excuse to leave the impending conversation, or possibly fly away.

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Cas said. “I didn’t expect much from this weekend except a chance to get closer to having my own school, but I’ve had fun. I’d like to get together some time, just to hang out or maybe to date, if you think you’d like that.” He leaned forward and kissed Dean on the cheek, stubble rasping against stubble. “Here’s my number.”

Dean was left clutching a piece of paper and mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“See now that was exactly what I was talking about,” Sam said, from where he’d been _watching from the bushes_ , the creeper. “Except it sounded way better when he said it.”

“Shut up.”

“Come on, Romeo, time to get in the car.”

“Romeo? Really?”

“Well, I was going to make ‘your princess is in another castle’ reference, but I couldn’t figure out how to make it work.”

“…shut up.”


	2. Interlude: First Date

Cas had written his number on a cocktail napkin. It had a little ring in the corner where a glass had sat on it, and Becky’s initials in elaborate script because she was a lunatic who had monogrammed napkins.

There was nothing, objectively, about this number that was any different than any of the hundreds of others he’d gotten over the years.

Well, except the monogram. Because that was pretty fucking weird.

But that did not explain why Dean had been brooding over the thing for over a week. He was one, very small step away from tearing a page out of his Lisa Frank notebook and sending Cas a note saying ‘will you go out with me, check yes or no’. 

“You’re pathetic,” Sam said.

Dean couldn’t even muster up a comeback. He was pathetic. He was the pathetic person to ever pathetic. In fact, they could build monuments to his pathetic-ness. “I think I need a Lisa Frank notebook.”

“Oh my god,” Sam said, and left.

~*~

The next day, Cas called. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean who used to think of himself as pretty suave, dropped the phone.

Another, better person might have pretended not to have noticed, and spared Dean the necessity of moving to a tiny island in the Pacific in shame. Cas, of course, was still laughing by the time Dean had retrieved his phone and settled on the couch. “Shut up,” Dean said. “How did you even get my number?”

“Sam called me,” Cas said.

Dean made a mental note to kill his brother.

“He said that you wanted to talk but were afraid to pick up the phone.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“He also stopped by the Y and left a long, very specific list on what we should do for our first date.”

“Oh my god,” Dean said, deciding that the only thing left to do was suffocate himself in the couch cushions.

“I think the best part is the last item, which just says ‘fade to black.’”

“This is the most mortifying experience of my entire life,” Dean mumbled.

“Nowhere to go but up, then!”

Reluctantly, Dean felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “You are the strangest person. I’m pretty sure Sam didn’t mean for you to actually tell me all of that.”

“I have seen a movie once or twice, and I know that kind of thing never ends well. It’s better that we all know that your brother is approaching setting the two of us up together with determination and colored inks.”

“That sounds like him. So, um-” Dean coughed. “What’s exactly is on this list?”

“Well, there’s a list of things you like in green, and things you don’t like in red. There’s a subsection on food that’s all in purple gel pen, which I think is an interesting artistic choice, and a breakdown of your musical preferences in blue. And of course the bit at the end, which is in pencil and I think might have been added by someone else, judging by the handwriting.”

“Great, now Jess is in on this, too.”

“I made a list for myself,” Cas said. “I thought it was only fair. I don’t really listen to music though, except for the playlist at the Y.”

“That’s just a crime. You and me, we are totally going to listen to some real music.”

“Alright, when?”

“Well, we… wait, I thought we were planning a date.”

“Isn’t this what a date is? Spending time together and doing something we both enjoy?”

“Sitting around listening to music isn’t a date, I do that with Sam. Okay, and now I’m in a bad mental place. But dating is, you know, dinner and a movie, or a nightclub, or… well, date stuff.”

“We can do dinner and a movie,” Cas said. “How about you organize dinner and music—two things that traditionally go very well together, or so I’m told—and I’ll handle the movie. Say, this Friday night?”

“Um… sure. Okay.”

“Is five too early?”

“No, that’s fine.”

“See you then. Bye, Dean.”

Dean stared at the phone for a moment. “Well, apparently we have a date.”

~*~

It seemed like Dean blinked and it was Friday night. From five o’clock until five thirteen, on the other hand, seemed to last about a thousand years.

Finally, there was a knock at the door.

“Sorry I’m late,” Cas said. “One of the bus tires got stuck in a drain and we had to wait for another bus.”

“Seriously?”

“Well, the man behind me thought that an alligator had climbed out the sewer and seized the bus in its mighty jaw and they were telling us the tire story to prevent a mass panic. Personally I think that theory’s a lot more interesting.”

Dean laughed and shook his head. “So that week at Becky’s was pretty much the usual for you. Weirdness and all.”

“Pretty much,” Cas said. “I don’t generally hold much stock in normal. Which is a nice conversational segue into telling you that I planned something a bit non-traditional for the movie tonight. It does fall within your Sam-acknowledged liking of superhero movies, though. Oh, and I brought you that list.”

Dean blinked. “Is this crayon and construction paper?”

“When Sam turned up I was monitoring an art class at the daycare, so I decided to utilize the tools at hand. This way we both have color-coded guides.”

“Huh,” Dean said, reading over Cas’s list of likes and dislikes. It was a bit… eclectic, not that he would have expected anything less.

“Should I take my coat off?” Cas said eventually.

“What?”

“Are we going out somewhere, or can I put my coat down?”

That was when Dean realized that he and Cas were still standing in the doorway to his apartment. “Oh, um, sorry, come in. It sounds kind of weird now that I’m about to say it out loud, but I really wanted to introduce you to some good music and I have a great stereo here in my apartment, so I made food and I thought we could just eat here. It’s just burgers and fries, only I remembered you liked them at Becky’s so I thought that would be fine.”

“Dean. It’s perfect. I did dress up in case we were going somewhere, but really I’m happy to stay in.”

Now that the trenchcoat was off, Dean could see what Cas was actually wearing. “Dude, you’re wearing jeans and a My Little Pony t-shirt.”

“But I changed out of my uniform and I showered, so that still counts,” Cas said. “Now tell me about Led Zeppelin.”

That conversation lasted through all the food Dean had cooked, two bowls of Dinosaur Egg instant oatmeal and a couple pieces of bread with an egg fried in the middle that Cas insisted was a thing in England.

“I’ve never seen anyone eat as much as you,” Dean said, before he realized how rude that sounded.

“Not even Sam?”

“That kid, I swear I don’t know where he gets his height from, he went through a vegetarian phase in elementary school that lasted for like six years, and even now he’s always harping about a balanced diet and whether I’m getting enough Omega-3. If there were any justice in the world he’d be 5’2”.”

“I’ve heard that eating healthy actually promotes growth,” Cas said, grinning.

“Whatever, man, I’ll take a cheeseburger over a tofu wrap any day.”

“Well, to answer your implied question: I like to eat, I work out a lot, and I have a fast metabolism. I’ve been told the metabolism will fade would time so I should get used to eating better now, but it seems much more logical to me to use it while I’ve got it.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Dean said. “So is there a timeframe for this mystery movie event?”

“No. But we can head out if you’re ready.”

Cas helped with the dishes, and in less than fifteen minutes Dean was pulling on his favorite leather jacket and they were out the door.

“I’m driving, though,” Dean said.

“If you want.”

“Oh, I want.” Dean sat behind the wheel and took a deep breath, savoring the moment. He patted the steering wheel. “Don’t worry, baby, I’d never cheat on you with the bus.”

Dean looked up to see Cas giving him an odd look. Dean shrugged, and the awkward moment stretched as Cas failed to look politely away. “Have I seen this car before?” Cas said finally.

“It was at Becky’s,” Dean said. “She had this beautiful vintage car, just sitting around gathering rust. Now if that’s not a crime, it should be. Apparently it’s the car that my ‘character’ drives in Chuck’s weird books, and when I mentioned buying if from her she went nuts and basically gave me the thing. I did have to promise to participate in future promotional pictures, but this girl is totally worth it.” He pet the steering wheel again.

“Interesting,” Cas said, still making uncomfortable eye contact.

Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to ask, but- “How do you mean?”

“You have a nice apartment, but there was very little of you in it. Interesting that you’ve only just gotten this car, but it’s already so much a part of you. It suits you.”

Dean had no idea what to say to that. “Well, on that note, where are we going?”

Where they were going turned out to be a storage facility.

“Okay…” Dean said, parking in the nearly deserted lot. “I’m confused, but curious.”

“Excellent,” Cas said. “That’s something I aspire to every day. This way.”

Cas led him down one dimly lit and frankly creepy row of little sheds, then took a sharp right and pulled out a key. “Well, here we are.”

“So, this is where you keep your stuff?” Dean said, remembering that Cas was essentially homeless at the moment.

“Yep. It can be difficult reconciling a nomadic lifestyle and packrat tendencies, but I do my best.” Cas flicked a light switch, and Dean stared.

“Wow.”

There were paintings and tapestries and decorative blankets on every wall and on the ceiling, and the entire room was full of boxes and just stuff. There was no logic to it that Dean could see. An elaborate and very old-looking vase was leaning against an inflatable green dragon in one corner, and on the other side he could see a typewriter, some kind of saxophone and a long scroll covered in some kind of Asian language. The floor was covered in a massive patchwork quilt, and one relatively clear area had an obviously handmade wooden rocking chair and a Ninja Turtle beanbag set in front of a tiny tv.

“I found this at a yard sale,” Cas said, “and I haven’t had a chance to watch it yet. I thought this would be a good time.” 

“Well, now I can see why you didn’t give me a hard time about my cassette tapes,” Dean joked, opting for the beanbag.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Cas said, putting the VHS in the tv. “I usually keep a stash of food here—let me see if there’s anything appropriate for movie viewing.”

“Ooh, Batman,” Dean said, as the credits started to roll.

It didn’t take long before both of them were choking back laughter. “What even was that shark?” Dean said. “And since when does the utility belt have Shark Repellant?”

“Technically I think it’s a utility helicopter now,” Cas said, tears in his eyes from laughing so hard. “Personally, I liked how they wrote the sound effects onto the screen, just in case we couldn’t tell it was a fight scene.”

“This might be the best movie ever made,” Dean said. “By the way, did you ever find any food?”

“Mostly spices and sauces, but I did find these,” Cas said, holding up a bag of marshmallows. “I think I probably have some candles around here somewhere, we could toast them.”

“I’m pretty sure candles don’t get hot enough to toast marshmallows,” Dean said.

“Well, have you ever tried?”

They did find two enormous candles in elaborate candlesticks that had apparently come from a church in Detroit and one Christmas-scented candle from Yankee Candle, but the experiment was an unfortunate failure; all that happened was the marshmallows turned a funny grey color.

So they ate cold marshmallows and watched Batman run around with a giant, ticking bomb on a pier full of nuns and everything smelled like candy canes and altogether it was the best date Dean had ever been on, hands down.

And then the night monitor person came and yelled at them for violating the fire code and told Cas to take his stuff and get out.

Dean felt pretty bad about that, but Cas insisted that it wasn’t a big deal. “I’ll just find somewhere else to put everything, don’t worry about. Stuff like this happens to me a lot, actually.”

Now that Dean could believe.

“I just need to make some phone calls,” Cas said. “I need to find somewhere to put all this before it gets late.”

“Well,” Dean said, because apparently Cas’s impulsive craziness was contagious, “why don’t you just come back to my place with me.”

Cas paused. “What?”

“Not, like, move in with me, obviously, but this is partly my fault, and I have plenty of space, and I’ve had a great time tonight and I’d like to spend more time together, and anyway it is pretty late so why don’t you just sort it all out in the morning?”

Cas smiled, and as if Dean’s babbling hadn’t made this enough of a middle school moment he could have sworn his heart actually turned over. “Well, if you’re sure.”

“Well, you know, I haven’t really gotten a chance to drive the car yet, so taking a few trips across town sounds like a perfect way to end the evening. Actually, do you drive? We can borrow Sam’s car, too.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

“We’re going to have to deflate that dragon, though.”

~*~

Sam called the next morning. “How was the big night, Dean?” he teased.

“Oh, I asked him to move in with me,” Dean said. “How’s Jess?”


	3. Interlude: One Month Later

Despite being really freaking weird, Cas was a great roommate. He cleaned up after himself, he didn’t party all night, and he didn’t bring people home. Well, he had a very different idea what ‘clean’ was than Dean did, but he made an effort, and he tended to get these wild ideas at three in the morning that led to him and Dean building hot air balloons in the backyard or searching the Art Museum for evidence of alien conspiracies, but it was fun. And Dean didn’t bring people home, either, because even though it had been three weeks and they hadn’t even kissed yet, he and Cas were definitely a couple.

Dean cooked them dinner every night, and Cas got up freakishly early and had breakfast and coffee ready when Dean woke up. Dean gave Cas a ride to the Y and picked him up, and Cas talked to someone and Dean started an internship at the daycare there. This kind of relationship was so far outside Dean’s experience that he sometimes had trouble believing this was his life, but then he’d come home from work and find Tibetan chants on the stereo instead of Zeppelin and Cas’s quilt taking up half the furniture in defiance of its actual size, and he’d smile and breathe a little easier. Having Cas in his life was easy, and at this point neither of them bothered to talk about Cas moving out anymore.

Today Dean was a little nervous. Sam had decided that if Dean wasn’t going to bring Cas around to visit him and Jess, then he was going to stop by and see them. Dean didn’t even know why he was nervous; he didn’t need Sam’s approval and anyway Sam had already met Cas and obviously liked him!

Dean left work early with the idea of maybe tidying the apartment up a little, especially since Sam hadn’t seen it since Cas and his overabundance of stuff kind of took over everything. Despite the added hassle for cleaning, Dean didn’t miss his previously spartan apartment, but he knew Sam would read things into the situation that didn’t need to be read.

His plan lasted right up until he opened the door and found construction paper, glue, glitter, and an assortment of other little-kid-oriented craft supplies all over the floor—with a sheet under them, like he’d asked.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Cas didn’t look up from where he was carefully gluing paper together. “We’re learning about dinosaurs this week,” he said. “So I thought we could make dioramas of our favorite period. Mine’s the Jurassic.”

“But there’re no T-Rexes,” Dean said, putting his coat somewhere far from the glitter and joining Cas on the floor. “How can you have a favorite without T-Rexes?”

“Jurassic was when the first birds appeared,” Cas said.

“Oh, your bird thing.”

“I don’t have a ‘bird thing’,” Cas said. “I happen to admire their ability to fly.”

“You totally have a thing.”

“I also like turtles,” Cas said. “Turtles don’t fly. And speaking of turtles, don’t sit on Samandriel.”

“I thought he was supposed to be in his cage thing,” Dean said, obediently scooting over as the spoiled-rotten turtle meandered through a pile of purple glitter. “I don’t remember an overabundance of glitter in Jurassic Park.”

“Glitter makes everything more exciting,” Cas said. “And he was tired of his terrarium; he was feeling confined.”

The door opening saved Dean from having to think of a response to that.

“Uh, Dean? What happened to your apartment?” Sam said, staring at the mess.

“Just let yourself in,” Dean said, because he still hadn’t found a way to explain to Sam why Cas was still here and just the general Cas-ness of his house and life.

“Thank you for the turtle,” Cas said.

“Um, you’re welcome?” Sam said.

“We’ve decided to go through our lists,” Cas said, pointing to where his and Dean’s likes and dislikes were hanging on the wall. “We go on a date or get a themed gift, and then we cross the item out. Dean got me a turtle.”

“I only made a list for Dean?” Sam said.

“But you were the inspiration,” Dean said. “Grab a seat, we’re making dinosaur dioramas.”

“Wow, it must be true love,” Sam said.

Dean dumped glitter in his hair.


	4. Interlude: One Year Later

Sam and Jess were obviously meant to be, and it was only a matter of time before he was sweating and dropping a ring in her soup and she was competently managing wedding preparations.

Dean took Cas as his date to the wedding, which was their first official ‘Dean and Cas’ moment in front of friends and family.

Considering how long they’d been living together, Dean felt a little bit bad about that.

“Why do you care what people you barely know think of our relationship?” Cas said, fiddling with his vest and looking very annoyed with the garment. “Everyone who matters already knows we’re together.”

“There’s a certain way these things are done,” Dean tried.

“Hey, we had a dinner and movie date, didn’t we?”

Dean smiled. “Yeah, once. And then you almost got arrested and we moved in together.”

“It’s not almost arrested until you’re in handcuffs,” Cas said.

“I never know if you’re joking when you say things like that.”

“Is it really necessary that I wear a suit?” Cas complained. “This is uncomfortable.”

“Jess said it’s absolutely necessary,” Dean lied.

“You know I was right there when she said the guests could wear whatever they liked to long as she got to wear a giant princess dress,” Cas said.

“This may be my only chance to see you in a tailored suit,” Dean said, going over to fix Cas’s vest. “And I’m going to enjoy this opportunity to its fullest. You look amazing. Especially with your hair like that.”

Cas frowned. “I did try to get it to lie flat, but now it’s sticking straight up and greasy instead of just sticking straight up.”

“You’ll be the prettiest princess at the ball, except for Jess of course. Now stop admiring yourself in the mirror and get moving. I have to go harass Sam.”

“Did you tell him yet?”

“This day’s just for Sam; we can tell him about the lease when he gets back from his honeymoon.”

“I can’t believe how close we are to having our own school.”

“This is all you, Cas. You did it.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Dean. It was your idea to have a daycare for busy parents, and that’s what has all the investors excited. It’s ours.”

“Well, I guess I helped a little.”

“Don’t you have best man duties to perform?”

“Yeah, I’m going, I’m going. Are you sure you don’t want to stand with the wedding party? I’m sure Jess wouldn’t pass up the chance to reduce the wedding planner to tears one last time.”

“Not a chance. I’m taking this suit off as soon as your back is turned.”

“Not if I duct tape it to you.”

“Like I couldn’t get out of—”

“Stop flirting with your boyfriend and get your ass out here!” Jess hollered from somewhere.

Both Dean and Cas jumped guiltily.

“I guess I’d better—”

“I’ll see you after—”

They both grinned, and Cas made a shooing motion. “You’d better move before she kills you. Think what a disaster it would be if I were forced to be your body double.”

Dean ran a hand through Cas’s hair, messing it further. “Jess says the ceremony’s like twenty minutes, tops. See if you can duck out early and get a seat near the cake.”

“I’ll make it my solemn mission. Now get out of here!” Cas swatted at him, which Dean ducked, laughing, and went out the door. Sam was starting a new life today, and soon he would be, too.


	5. Epilogue

“Dean? Dean, you in here?” Sam called.

“Yeah, we’re in the back,” Dean called back.

Sam’s arrival was accompanied by the screeching wails of a furious four-month-old. “Hey, do you guys have a…?”

“I’m certain the answer is yes,” Cas called from the other room. “And could you lot keep it down to a dull roar?”

“Maybe if you weren’t all yelling like a bunch of hooligans!” Dean yelled, opening the door for Sam. “Hey, man, bring the angel in here.”

“Right, angel,” Sam said, sounding about as stressed as he looked. Which was saying something, seeing as that girly hair was all askew and he had baby vomit all over his three hundred dollar jacket.

“That the new fashion in law firms these days?” Dean teased, deftly snatching up his young niece. “Who’s my precious angel?”

She stopped screaming and burbled, crossing her eyes as she tried to focus on Dean’s face.

“How do you do that?” Sam said.

“It’s a gift.”

A little boy, four and three quarters years old, ran up to “Dean! Dean! Abby stole my crayon!”

Dean smoothly turned the baby into his shoulder, freeing up his other hand to grasp Ben’s chubby one. “Well, we can’t have that, can we? Let’s go talk to her.”

Ben led them to a large playroom, with a table of Legos, another one of coloring supplies, and one of those little plastic kitchens with fake food and spatulas and things. Three kids were playing with the Legos, and one little girl was coloring.

“That’s a nice house, Abby,” Dean said. “And… is that a horse?”

“It’s a unicorn,” she said haughtily. Abby was the bossiest person on the entire planet, and she didn’t let a little thing like being three stop her from ordering everyone else around, adults, other kids, and furniture alike.

“So what’s this I hear about you not being a good sharer?” Dean asked.

“I needed to make the sky,” Abby said.

“And was Ben using the blue crayon?” Dean asked, undeterred.

“But I _needed_ it!” she whined.

“You needed to wait until Ben was done,” Dean scolded. “Then you could have had your turn.”

Abby gave him a face that was all pouty lips and big, watery blue eyes.

“Not going to work on me,” Dean said. “I raised Sammy.”

Abby scowled and handed over the blue crayon.

Sam came tumbling into the room, jacket stained wet where he’d tried to scrub off the formula and made it ten times worse. “Dean, I hate to run but—”

“Yeah, yeah, you said on the phone,” Dean said, waving him off. “Babysitter’s sick, Jess is in Boston and you have a big client meeting. Relax. I got this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sam. This is kind of what I do for a living. I have two Pack N Plays in the back, a high chair, a car seat, and three different kinds of those puff snacks.”

“She’s not on solid foods yet, Dean!”

“I see her practically every day, Sam,” Dean said, pushing his brother out the door. “I think I can remember that. Go. Do lawyer-ly things. Help someone cover up their offshore accounts.” He closed the door on Sam’s indignant squawk with great satisfaction.

“Come on, Princess, let’s see what Sam left us for lunch.”

It turned out Sam left his briefcase for lunch, and he very sheepishly returned twelve minutes later to exchange it for the diaper bag. “Not a word, Dean.”

“Dork,” Abby said.

Sam blushed and hurried out to his meeting.

It was a bit of a challenge keeping the five kids entertained and out of trouble while feeding and rocking the baby to sleep—he did have a Pack N Play, but he didn’t want to waste the limited time he had with his niece while she was this small.

He was refereeing a game of full contact Duck, Duck, Goose when the parents began drifting in.

Lisa was the first, as usual. She was a single mom, working hard towards a certification and yoga studio of her own. She was as driven as Cas, friendly and outgoing, and smoking hot. In another life, Dean could see himself asking her out.

But as it was, they laughed and exchanged stories about Ben in passing, and she talked about Cas the way other people talked about their favorite quarterback or actor, like he was the greatest thing to ever grace the planet. Which, Dean thought Cas was pretty awesome too, but seriously.

Abby belonged to an older couple who took classes together as a way of bonding or a golden anniversary gift or something. They spoiled her shamelessly and for her dad especially all she had to do was bat those big blue eyes and he’d turn to putty in her little hands. The mom was a little better, but Dean had butted heads with the two of them a few times over whether their precious little cupcake really had knocked the teeth out of a boy three years older than her. Still, their adoration was sincere, and it warmed Dean’s heart to see it.

The twins went with a guy just a little older than Dean, who did yoga because he needed some personal time to relax with two rambunctious twins at home. His wife, who worked full time, came to the evening class.

The last kid went with another couple, two women who’d been doing yoga for more years than Dean was old. They were exploring different styles and liked Cas’s karma or chi or whatever it was (Dean still wasn’t really in tune with the spiritual part of Cas’s practice, to Cas’s tolerant amusement).

The rumble of voices and footsteps sounded from the main room, where other class members were saying their goodbyes and leaving. Dean wasn’t really close with any of them, the ones without kids.

Cas of course knew their entire life stories. It was a little creepy, in Dean’s opinion, but the clients loved it. Cas said that everyone liked being noticed, remembered.

And speak of the devil…

“Hey, you,” Cas said, leaning in to kiss Dean.

Dean kept his body back, kissing back without jostling the baby with the ease of practice. “Hey yourself.” Cas was all sweaty from teaching, which Dean would have loved to take advantage of, but the baby chose that moment to start her pitiful little hiccupping sobs that meant ‘feed me or suffer my ear-splitting wrath.’

“And hello to you, too, Mary,” Cas said, patting her little curls. He was the only person Dean knew who was more awkward with the baby than Sam was.

“You usually give babies a nickname, Cas,” Dean said, heading towards the back of the studio. “The names aren’t really needed until they go to school.”

It was an old argument, and Cas predictably rolled his eyes. “Mary is a lovely name, and I prefer to use it,” he said. “Since you’re about to be occupied, I’ll just start lunch, shall I?”

Dean threw a bottle of pre-filtered water in the microwave for a few seconds, trying to keep ahead of the increasingly loud whimpers. “Is she on two scoops or three now? Are we still worried about her gaining enough weight?”

Cas paused from taking vegetables out of the refrigerator and went to examine the baby. He poked her rounded belly. “She seems fine to me.”

“Jess saw on the internet that if babies don’t have enough fat when they’re little their brains don’t develop right,” Dean said. “I’ll put in three scoops just in case. A little extra won’t hurt her.”

“If you think so,” Cas said, returning to the vegetables. “I thought I’d make soup and sandwiches, how does that sound?”

“No burgers?”

“We had burgers for dinner last night, and for lunch three days ago.”

“You can never have too many burgers.”

“We have roast beef?”

“Fine, but make some manly soup this time. None of that vegetable medley crap. I knew you were a closet vegan.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense, Dean. Is tomato manly enough for you, or should I throw in some engine oil and a hockey puck?”

“Don’t be a smartass,” Dean said, shaking the bottle and dripping a bit on his forearm. “Yes, yes, relax, Princess, two more seconds. God, you’re obviously Sammy’s kid. Eat, you greedy thing, eat.”

“And where does that fall in the hierarchy of nickname logic?” Cas teased, upending a can of Campbell’s over the pot. “Pass me the milk.”

“I see we’re eating gourmet today,” Dean said, propping the bottle on his chin so he could wrap one arm around Cas’s waist. 

“Do you know how long it takes to make tomato soup from scratch?” Cas asked, trying to reach the fridge with Dean in the way.

“No, and neither do you,” Dean said, laughing. He slid his hand into the back pocket of Cas’s pants. “I always wondered why you have just one pocket in these things.”

Cas tilted his head back and kissed Dean soundly, upsetting the baby bottle. Mary started to cry. “Sit down and feed the baby and let me cook,” Cas scolded, pointing his stirring spoon at Dean. “Or you won’t get any sandwiches.”

Dean reluctantly went to sit at their little kitchen table, though not before he snuck one more quick grope. He settled into his favorite position, legs slung over the arms of the chair, Mary’s head tucked into the crook of his arm as he fed her. She forgave him for his earlier lapse and suckled contentedly.

Dean enjoyed the soft sounds of Cas shuffling around the kitchen, the smell of good sandwiches and hot soup, the warmth of the baby on his arm, the fabulous view as Cas bent to put the lettuce and tomatoes away.

“We should keep everything on the bottom shelves,” Dean said.

“I’m not inconveniencing myself for your perverted fantasies,” Cas said, smiling.

“Excuse you, but who does most of the cooking around here?” Dean said, shifting the baby so he could burp her. “Hey, toss me a spitcloth, would you?”

“You’ll have to make do with a towel,” Cas said.

Dean caught the towel, which was an obnoxious yellow and had cows embroidered on it. “Ugh, if I’d known this was an option I would have used this towel before. Where do you find this crap?”

“Craft fairs. Yard sales. Home Goods. I think it’s adorable,” Cas said, with dignity.

“Oh god, it’s like I don’t even know you,” Dean said, groaning.

“You like it,” Cas said, balancing a heaping plate of sandwiches and two bowls of soup. “We forgot to do the dishes again; can you eat soup with a spork?”

“I think we have some extras from the ice cream place,” Dean said, “you know, the one with the awesome milkshakes?”

“Why were you stealing spoons if you ordered a milkshake?” Cas asked, digging around in their ‘stuff’ box for the pilfered spoons. Things were so comfortable and perfect that Dean hardly remembered his life before the studio.

The studio had taken a while to get on its feet, but Sam had strong-armed them into letting him give them a loan, and now they had a small apartment with a real bed and patterned plates and towels with cows on them. How did that happen?

“Why don’t I take a turn and you eat?” Cas asked, holding out his arms for the baby.

“Yeah, no. You always drop food on her head.”

“It’s not like she cares.”

“And now you are definitely not getting her,” Dean said, brandishing the plastic spoon to emphasize his point.

“Suit yourself.”

They spent the whole afternoon in cloyingly sweet domestic bliss, finally putting the baby down for a nap before washing the dishes and trying to put the playroom in some kind of order, trading kisses in passing like sneaky teenagers (or the old married couple that they totally were).

Then it was time for Cas’s evening tai chi class, and Dean wheeled Mary’s Pack N Play into the corner of the playroom (once that girl was down, she could sleep through anything) so he could keep an eye on her while he welcomed the kids.

It had been Dean’s idea, one he was still secretly proud of. There were loads of yoga studios and tai chi schools in the area, but Cas’s school had something special: free childcare for the busy parent. At first, they’d fully intended to hire someone, even started interviewing (and wasn’t that a trip, Dean had never interviewed for a job in his life, and now he was the one doing the asking), but while they were waiting Dean started watching the kids himself—just Ben, back then—and just never left. Those community college classes, and his experience practically raising Sam on his own, were finally useful for something.

It might be the best decision he’d ever made, after agreeing to that first date. 

Sam and Jess both showed up at seven-thirty, just as class was letting out. 

“Don’t worry, she was an angel,” Dean said, reluctantly handing her over. “She ate twice and I changed her three times.”

“Hello, sweetheart,” Jess cooed, pressing kisses to Mary’s fat little cheeks.

“You’re so good with her, Dean,” Sam said. “Are you sure you don’t want one of your own?”

Dean had sticky handprints all over his jeans from where he’d thought it was a good idea to let the kids have juice boxes, and a paintbrush stuck in his hair. He could just see Cas’s profile in the other room, awkwardly making small talk as he dismissed his students. And his niece giggled as she stuck her fingers up Jess’s nose.

“I think I’ve got all the family I need right here.”


End file.
